


Saint Is A Sinner Too

by mcnegan



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Bodily Fluids, Daddy Kink, Death, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Gun Violence, Infertility, Injury, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Mob AU, Mob Boss Negan, Mob Boss!Negan - Freeform, Negan - Freeform, Original Character(s), POV Original Female Character, Possessive Negan, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Violence, Weapons, high key Magic City vibes, the walking dead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-09-22 19:03:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 75
Words: 198,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9621410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcnegan/pseuds/mcnegan
Summary: Isabella Moretti is homeward bound to attend her estranged father's funeral; when the presumed short trip meant for closure takes an unwelcome trek down memory lane, how will she deal with being plunged headlong into the life she'd long since left behind?





	1. I'm Comin' Home, But I Ain't Comin' Home For You

I swore up and down that I would never go back home to New York. _Ever _. Yet here I am; god knows how many hours into a red-eye flight, headed straight for the vile, poisonous hell-hole I was raised in. I guess it’s true what they say – you can’t run from your problems because eventually, they catch up to you. And _boy_ had my problems done just that.__

_You’re doing the right thing _, I remind myself for what feels like the hundredth time. I’d gotten the call from my father’s lawyer only a few hours prior. “_ Your father is gone, Ms. Moretti_.” 

I can’t help but wonder why my father instructed his lawyer to seek me out, or why he had opted to leave everything to me in his will. We hadn’t spoken in nearly a decade, not since I’d made the decision to escape from the lifestyle he’d thrust upon me. Thinking back on why I’d left, I can feel the dull throb of a headache beginning.

As a child, I was never suspicious about the money my father brought home. Amounts of money far beyond his pay grade as a mechanic. Unbeknownst to me at the time, my father wasn’t _just _a mechanic, but I was too naïve and too invested in our luxurious lifestyle to ever question it.__

__It wasn’t until I was well into my teens that I began to notice anything amiss. I started to pay more attention to the odd occurrences – the hushed phone calls at all hours of the night, the mysterious unmarked packages left by the back door each week (I later learned those packages were full of money too), and the constant flow of suit-clad men in and out of my father’s office each day._ _

I sometimes wonder if I ever would have figured it out had it not been for the rumors that began circulating in our small suburban town. People talked and the gossip spread quick as wildfire. It wasn’t long before friends began to ask outright. “ _Does your dad work for the mob? _” I froze in disbelief the first time someone voiced it directly to my face._ No way_, I thought, _he would never_. I denied it, of course. My father was a good man, too good to be involved with gangsters, murderers, and thieves. Wasn’t he? 

I distinctly remember the night my world fell apart. I walked past my father’s office, overhearing a phone call. Someone named Giovanzo. _Giovanzo, Giovanzo, Giovanzo _. I recited the name over and over in my mind, struggling to remember where I’d heard it before. The realization hit me like a freight train.__

__The Giovanzo family. The most notorious mob family on the upper east coast. I couldn’t breathe. With a hand over my mouth, I slid down the wall outside the office door. A door that had just opened to reveal my clearly distressed and now confused father. Somehow he’d known – just from the look on my face – that I’d figured it out. To his credit, he never bothered to deny the question I couldn’t put into words; giving me the courtesy of truth at the very least. The rumors were true and my father was in fact involved with the mob. How deep that involvement ran, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know._ _

Around the age of 19, I began to resent my father for his choices and associations. His business relations with the mob grew tense and consequentially tore our family apart bit by bit. My mother was constantly fraught with worry and implored him to break his connections to keep our family safe. Her distaste for the made life never went unnoticed; what with all the gatherings and parties the various women of the life held, it was hard for her to hide it from anyone. 

My mother’s fear eventually got the best of her and she made the mistake of calling the police and informing them of my father’s activities, hoping it would scare him into complying with her requests. Unfortunately, all she had managed to do was engender herself as a threat to the entire organization and put us all at risk. My father had always done well shielding me from danger, but he wasn’t able to do the same for my mother – now labeled a rat – and she was killed at the hands of the Don’s most diabolical men. 

The memory of it still nauseates me. My mother and I were home alone when two men forced their way through the door. Upon hearing their breach, my mother urged me to hide in a nearby closet. I begged her to join me, but my pleas fell on deaf ears as she forced the door shut on me and told me not to make a sound. It wasn’t long before I heard a muffled commotion followed by my mother’s soft cries and a hissed voice spitting out, “ _Don Giovanzo sends his regards _”. I slammed my eyes shut and covered my ears, though it was meager protection against the gunshot that rang out moments later.__

That very same night I packed what little belongings held value and I ran. I ran and I never looked back. I ran because I was terrified. Terrified of what had happened, terrified of what could have happened, and terrified of what could _still _happen. I couldn’t be sure whether those men knew I was in the house that night and I surely didn’t want to find out. The Giovanzo family was far too careful to leave any loose ends, and I didn’t plan on hanging around for them to come looking for me to tie any ends up.__

It took less than a year for my father to contact me. I knew I couldn’t blame him for what happened to my mother. How could I hold him responsible for the actions of a violent, blood-thirsty man wrought with the need for retaliation? I suppose reaching out to me was his way of easing his conscience. He’d known he had at least tried to make reparations, and if I didn’t respond – well then, that was my problem, wasn’t it? 

That’s exactly what I am doing now, I realize. Easing my conscience, making reparations. We hadn’t had contact, but I at least owed him my last respects, right? I'm doing this for me, not for him. I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of being the last one of us to make an effort, I was too stubborn. Hell, I would outlive God trying to have the last word. 

The soft thunk of the stewardess placing the glass of vodka down in front of me brings me back to reality. I give her a tight-lipped smile as I wrap my slender fingers around the chilled glass. I don’t even bother trying to keep up the façade of calmness and instead down the glass, feeling the warmth spread through my belly. Leaning back against the headrest, I sigh deeply and prepare for the pilot’s dreaded message that we’ll be landing soon.

_You’re doing the right thing _.__


	2. Back In Black

Popping my neck with a groan, I fidget restlessly as I stand atop the slow-moving escalator. Making my way toward the exit of the airport, I slide my phone from my back pocket and check the time. _4:17am. Barely enough time to get home and get some sleep before the service_. Even at this hour, I step outside to a litany of calls from rabid taxi drivers. Choosing the closest one, I toss my duffle bag onto the seat and climb in. “Headed to the Bronx,” I mutter to the driver before rattling off my father’s address and waiting to be whisked away to my childhood home. 

 • • • • • • • • • • 

I pry my eyes open and take a moment to assess my surroundings. _Home sweet fuckin’ home, huh_. Forcing the air from my lungs in an exhausted huff, I roll over and rise lifelessly from the oversized couch to gather the crinkled black dress I’d haphazardly shoved into my bag. 

I slip my feet into a pair of black patent pumps and shuffle slowly to the kitchen to brew myself some much needed coffee. Watching the dark, aromatic liquid drip into the glass carafe, my brain begins to cycle through all the things weighing on my mind. The funeral, the meeting with my father’s lawyer following the service, and the ever-present anxiety I am feeling about being back home surrounded by people I had left behind with no semblance of a farewell. It’s futile, I know, but I can’t help hoping that maybe everyone who once knew me had moved away or at the very least, forgotten me. 

I gulp down several mouthfuls of scalding coffee and pray for the strength and patience to get through this day. Grabbing the set of keys off the hook near the door, I head to the garage and begrudgingly lift myself into the black SUV I find there. _Here we go_.

After a short drive, I reach the worn down church, swinging the truck into the nearest parking spot and killing the ignition. Inhaling deeply through my nose, I steel myself for the coming onslaught of the day. With the speed of a drunken sloth, I drop from the vehicle and trudge to the open doors of the church. I navigate my way through the inky mass of mourners that fill the building and perch myself in a half-empty pew. 

Hesitantly glancing at my surroundings, the faces I recognize are scarce. I take a moment to mentally thank myself for the few changes I’d made to my appearance after I’d left all those years ago. My once long, dark, and curly tresses were now colored a deep red; pin straight and cut just below my shoulder. The kohl black makeup circling my eyelids alters my visage just enough that I can get by unnoticed without closer inspection. As the priest begins to speak, my eyes zero in on the sign that reads: _IN LOVING MEMORY OF ANGELO LUCA MORETTI_ , and I zone out.

Mercifully, when the mass finishes I manage to slip out the side door of the church undetected while the other church-goers mingle within. Leaning against the iron railing surrounding the small stone patio I stand upon, I release a puff of air, creating a cloud of vapor in the chilly morning air. 

_Bullet number one: dodged_. Just as a wave of relief starts to wash over me, I hear the door at my back creak open and I tense, prepared to move away as subtly and quickly as possible. _Someone recognized me. No one can know I’m back. What if the mob is still looking for m–_.

Before I have the chance to flee, I hear the soft _snik_ of a lighter followed by a prolonged exhale. I release a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, coming to the realization that my mysterious companion merely joined me to indulge in a cigarette rather than to seek me out. _Shit, you are so paranoid_ , I chastise, _calm the fuck down_. 

In the midst of my session of self-berating, I’d missed the soft footfalls heading in my direction. Not until the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up do I realize that the figure behind me is now situated directly next to me. I reach out for the railing in front of me, bracing myself for whatever this person evidently wants from me. Several moments pass before a deep, gritty voice reaches my ears, uttering the last words I expected to hear standing outside my father’s funeral.


	3. Pleased To Meet You, Hope You Guess My Name

“Damn, how ‘bout this nice fuckin’ weather, huh?”

 _What the FUCK_. I blink my eyes several times before I register what I’d just heard and try to formulate a response. Too stunned to bother with politeness, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Do you typically discuss the weather casually with someone who’s burying a family member? A _stranger_ , no less?” I bite out. 

I don’t receive a reply straightaway, so I avert my eyes to the man beside me, who is now supporting himself with his hip pressed against the railing, body tilted toward me. My gaze falls upon a rugged face decorated with thick brows, hazel eyes, wide, plush lips, a smattering of salt and pepper scruff and…a deeply furrowed brow. 

“Shiiiii-yat, you’re Big Ang’s kid, right?” he inquires seriously, the words leaving his mouth accompanied by a trail of smoke. He drops his cigarette to the ground and douses it with a twist of his – rather expensive looking – two-tone leather dress shoe. 

Not wanting to out myself, I skirt his question and ask a question of my own. 

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” 

“Excuse the shit outta me, where are my manners?! I’m Negan.” He thrusts a large hand in my direction expectantly. “Hi,” he drawls with a smug grin slowly spreading across his annoyingly handsome face. 

“Charmed, I’m sure,” I retort coolly, trying my best to end this interaction before it starts. The less contact I have with anyone here, the better. I release my death-grip on the railing and turn to head in the direction of the parking lot. 

“What, I don’t even get a name? Don’t be _rude_ , darlin’,” he calls out with feigned mirth. 

I halt my retreating steps, tilting my head back in exasperation and rolling my eyes skyward. Wanting nothing more than to get in my car, finish my errands for the day, and go home, I decide to entertain his curiosity. I throw caution to the wind; he’d pretty much already confirmed who I was, so offering up my name didn’t seem like much of a risk at this point. _What the hell_. 

“Izzie,” comes my clipped answer. I swivel around to watch him closely, preparing myself for whatever words next leave his mouth – further wasting my time. Looking him up and down, I study the expensive watch adorning his wrist, the silver rings wrapped around several of his long, thin fingers, and the 3-piece suit that hugs his lithe form nicely. 

He didn’t _seem_  like some kind of lurking prowler, and if not for the slimy vibes I am getting from him, I’d almost find him attractive. Upon my perusal, something about him strikes me as vaguely familiar, but before I can ponder it any further, he reacts. Biting into his lower lip and raising his eyebrows, he sways backwards animatedly. _Over-animatedly_. 

“Huh, well…awful nice to meet ya, Izzzzie,” he says, dragging the sound of my name over his tongue. He takes several short, measured strides towards me. Being nearly a foot taller than me, he bends slightly at the waist when he leans into my personal space to murmur lowly, “I’ll see ya around, doll.” He stares into my expressionless face for several more seconds before breaking the silence with a short chuckle, pivoting on the balls of his feet and receding back inside the church. 

I groan inwardly, cringing at the finished interaction. _What an arrogant bastard_ , I think. Pulling myself together, I turn and stomp through the lot heading for my truck. I climb into the driver’s seat, turn the ignition, and glance up; more than ready to tear ass out of this godforsaken holy ground. I spot a trio of women watching me intently from the sidewalk. I recognize their familiar – albeit aged – faces from the many parties I’d been forced to attend as a teenager. _Fuck, the jig is up_. 

Snapping my seatbelt in place, I depress the gas pedal with admittedly more force than necessary and screech past my spectators. But not before I see recognition dawn across their faces, swiftly followed by various levels of suspicion and finally, disgust. 

_Welcome home, Izzie_.


	4. Figured You Out

My feet are lightly throbbing as I march up the weathered concrete steps and twist the knob on the glass-paned door reading _Grimmel & Co. Law Firm_. I am instantly assaulted by the smell of old books and the sound of ringing coming from the reception desk directly ahead of me. I gently shut the door behind me and approach the desk, patiently waiting for the secretary to finish her call and turn her attention my way.

As she places the handset back into the cradle and flicks her eyes to my face, she gasps and clutches her weathered old hands to her chest. A tiny smile tickles the edges of my lips as her eyes fill with unshed tears and I great her warmly, if not a little awkwardly. 

“Hi, Suze…long time no see, eh,” I joke gently. Susan had been my next door neighbor growing up and she’d practically raised me as her own during some of the hard times that fell on my family. She is one of the few people I wasn’t worried about running into during my time in this shithole. I needn’t worry about judgement or disapproval where Susan is concerned. 

Looking as if she’s just seen a ghost, Susan reaches up to swipe at the few tears that had journeyed down her wrinkled cheeks. It takes a few more seconds for her to gather herself before she speaks to me. 

“Oh, Izzie. Is that really you, sweetie?” she croaks, swallowing thickly. 

“The one and only,” I declare, throwing my arms out in a wide gesture as if to display myself proudly. 

Susan stands from her place behind the large wooden desk, rounds the corner, and quickly wraps her arms around me in a constricting embrace. 

“You _stupid_ , stubborn child. Don’t you know how worried we all were when you disappeared? You couldn’t _call_ , you couldn’t _write_?” 

I can tell from her tone that she is more relieved to see me again than she is actually angry with me, though the disapproving look she sends my way makes me doubt that for a moment. 

“If I could have told you where I was, I would’ve. I’m sorry I left the way I did, but I couldn’t risk anyone knowing _anything_ , you know that,” I say, pleading my case. 

Sighing in defeat she relents, reminding me that I have important matters to handle, and directs me down the hall to the office of the lawyer I’m seeking. Reaching the door, I lift my hand and gently rap my knuckles against the dark-stained wood. 

“Come in,” a male voice speaks. 

I ease the door open and my eyes fall upon a young man about my age with a pair of thick-rimmed glasses perched on his long nose. _Not the guy I’m looking for_. He lifts his eyes from the papers on his desk and looks at me with interest. 

“Oh, um sorry,” I stammer, “I’m looking for Patrick Grimmel, I’ll just–”. I begin to back out of the room when his voice stops me. 

"Well you got him! That’s me, I’m Patrick,” he confirms. 

I stare dumbly, having expected the older man I remember as my father’s lawyer; he must sense my confusion because he quickly adds, “Patrick, Jr. My father retired 3 years ago and I took over the firm. Sorry for the confusion. You must be Isabella Moretti, then?” 

“Izzie, please,” I correct him, stepping into the office and having a seat across from his desk. “Let’s get this over with, I guess.” 

Patrick spends the next 45 minutes explaining the details of my father’s last will and testament. In an attempt to not seem like a heartless bitch who had only come home for her father’s money, I fake interest and ask Patrick what had killed my father. _Cancer_. I scoff to myself, of course it was cancer. I’d always known it would be, I just assumed it would be the cancer he worked for that would kill him. 

Grabbing my attention again, Patrick begins to tell me about a bank account my father had been filtering money into for me. Again I find myself wondering _why_ he hadn’t cut me out of his life the way I’d done to him, it didn’t make sense. Then again, he constantly reminded me that everything he was doing was to take care of his family, so maybe this is his way of keeping that promise. 

Patrick rambles on about things I'm not listening to, I am too busy debating whether or not I would take the money. I hadn’t exactly been well off since I’d left, so having financial stability would be a relief, I just wasn’t sure I wanted the money to come from paychecks issued by the family responsible for killing my mother and ruining my life. 

“As far as what he told me, your father had paid his dues and had no debts to the mob. Every penny in that account is yours, Izzie. It’s about $30,000, according to the records your father kept. I’ll give you the information you need to access the account and then it’s up to you what happens with it.” 

I’d stopped listening after the words “thirty thousand”. _Take that money and RUN. Get the fuck out of this nightmare of a town once and for all. Start over for real this time_. It wasn’t until I heard the name that I snapped back to the present. _Giovanzo_. I visibly flinched when Patrick spoke the moniker, immediately asking him to repeat himself with more venom than I intended. 

“The current head of the Giovanzo family is in possession of some of the items your father left for you, I can give you the address if you’d like to retrieve them,” he repeats. 

“No. _Fuck_ , no. I don’t care about that stuff and I want nothing to do with the _monster_ that killed my mother,” I spit. It's then that Patrick informs me that the head of the family is no longer the man who had my mother murdered, but rather his son. Not that it would do anything to sway my decision to forego retrieving any of my father’s shit; that bastard could keep it. 

“His son? I didn’t know that animal had any kids,” I respond offhandedly. Asking more out of a need to fill the silence than actual curiosity, I ask Patrick the name of the Don’s son. The unexpected answer simultaneously chills me to the bone and makes my blood boil. 

“Negan.”


	5. Wolf At Your Door

I’d spent the past hour or so of my afternoon holding back a plethora of dry heaves as I dumped copious amounts of putrid, rotting, and way-past-expired food from the fridge into a large black trash bag. Evidently, when my father grew sick enough that he’d been hospitalized, his home had been abandoned and left to deteriorate. _Yet another thing for me to take care of_. 

Heaving the bulged bag over my shoulder, I stumble toward the front door and climb down the porch stairs to toss the rancid sack into the open trashcan. Wiping my hands across the seat of my black denim shorts, I head back toward the house. Before I can lift my foot onto the lowest of the stone steps, something I’d been too preoccupied to notice earlier catches my eye. _How long has that been there?_

Tucked alongside my front door is a large bouquet of lilies. As I make my way up the stairs to closer inspect, I spy a tiny black envelope situated among the blossoms. I yank the envelope out of the floral pick it’s cradled in and flip it over, pulling out the bit of cardstock stuffed inside. My brows slam down over my eyes as I scan the stationary. 

**Sorry for your loss. Unfortunate circumstances for us to meet under, but a pleasure nonetheless.**

**Condolences,**

****

 N 

****

_Sonofabitch_. Holding the card in one hand, I reach out to wrap my fingers around the lip of the vase containing the offending flora. I retrace my steps back down to the small aluminum pail and toss the envelope in. With an angered grunt, I subsequently hurl the bouquet in as well, hearing a satisfying crunch as the vase smashes to pieces. Maybe I am being petty, but my refusal to accept his gift gives me the smallest sense of self-gratification. 

Feeling fulfilled, I ascend the stairs a final time and close myself back up in the house. I head to the coffee table centered in the living room and plonk myself onto the floor next to it. Grasping the dossier of legal papers I’d acquired from Patrick, I settle in and resign myself to a long night of figuring out what the hell I planned to do with all the shit my father left for me to deal with. 

First and foremost, I need to come to a decision about the house I currently occupy. _That_ alone is going to be a chore. Patrick had called shortly after I returned home to inform me that although my father had wanted his house to go to me, he wasn’t legally authorized to relinquish ownership. While reviewing the deed to the house, Patrick had discovered that my father had been given the house as a gift and was merely a co-owner. The other owner? You guessed it, the _fucking_ Giovanzo family. _What kind of favors do you have to do that you’d be gifted a whole fucking house?_

The reminder of Patrick’s earlier words makes me wish I had made a stop at the liquor store on my way home. Rubbing circles around my temple, I recall our conversation. 

“ _You have several options. One, you buy out the respective owner, giving you full ownership. Two, you make an offer to the co-owner to buy YOU out. Name your price and then sign the property over to them. Thirdly, the house remains under it’s current dual-ownership and you either move in or rent it out; pending the other party’s approval, of course. Regardless of what you decide, Izzie, you’re going to have to meet with him._ ” 

_Him_. At least Patrick had done me the courtesy of refraining from saying his name, considering my visceral reaction to his initial mention of it back at his office. It took several moments of tense silence before I advised Patrick that I would need some time to think it over and hurriedly ended the call. 

The sudden chiming of my doorbell snaps me from my reverie. Thanks to my new-found plight of extreme paranoia, the unexpected sound causes me to launch to my feet; my kneecap smashing into the coffee table on the way up, sending the piece of furniture careening several feet with an accompanying cacophony of bangs and squeaks. _Guess pretending no one is home is no longer an option_. 

Moving as stealthily as possible with my poor, bruised knee, I slink over to the nearest window. From this vantage point, I can’t see who had come calling, however I spot my mystery visitor’s car in my driveway. 

“Expensive taste,” I mutter sardonically to no one in particular as I note the sleek ebony Impala parked atop the pavement. 

Accepting my fate of yet another unsolicited interaction, I drag my feet over to my front door and disengage the deadbolt. I reach for the security chain as well before deciding against it and instead crack the door open the few inches allowed by the short length of metallic links. 

My jaw pops open in disbelief as I take in the tall, dark figure looming in my entryway. _You’ve gotta be kidding me…_

“Well hell-oh there,” he practically sings, taking a drag from the cigarette situated between his fingers. Standing before me is none other than Mr. Mob himself. _How the fuck did he get my address?_ His smug tone and the giddy expression upon his face suggest that I should be glad to be graced with his presence. _Fat chance, pal_. 

“What?” I snap, doing nothing at all to mask my icy tone. My only indication that he had detected the disdain in my voice is the slight flick of his left eyebrow. 

“Ho! Man, your social etiquette could use some _real_ improvement,” he taunts, leaning at an angle to gaze at me, stirring a cloud of smoke directly into my face. “What? No answer?” His smile fades only a touch before he adds, “Shit, girl, lighten up. At least smile a little.” 

My allotted patience for the day has long been used up and I am already sick of his inexhaustible mouth. Staring him down, I steer the conversation in the direction that would most quickly remove him from my front porch. 

“Did you need something? I’m busy,” I announce, praying he takes mercy on me and goes away. It’s then that I drop my eyes to his hand where he’s lazily twirling a white lily, it’s petals slightly rumpled. My eyes dart to the nearby uncovered trashcan where I can just make out the flowers perched atop the rest of the rubbish, before returning to his tawny gaze. I clear my throat uncomfortably. _Oops_. 

Smiling knowingly, he flicks his cigarette butt into my yard as he begins, “ _Sooo_ sorry to interrupt. I spoke to Patrick Grimmel. Seems you and I have some things to discuss, so I thought I’d drop by.” He gesticulates fluidly throughout his spiel and I can’t help but be slightly amused that such a put-together and seemingly classy individual would have so little control over their movements. 

He continues in a teasing tone as he absentmindedly rubs his fingertips through his graying scruff. “Perhaps another time would be better. I’ll be back in one week and then we’re going to have us a little chit-chat. Until then…ta-ta, my dear,” he finishes enthusiastically with a wink. Not waiting for a response, he whirls around, his long, lean legs carrying him down the stairs in the direction of his car as he let’s out a melodious whistle. 

I slam the front door in annoyance and move to the window, watching as he folds his towering form into the driver’s seat. A prolonged sigh of relief escapes me as I see his car turn and disappear down the street, the setting sun reflecting off the glistening chrome detail of the car. 

Exhaustion washes over me and I decide I’m done dealing with everything for the day. I head for the staircase, longing to crawl into the plush mattress I know I will find in my parent’s bedroom. 

During my ascension it dawns on me what had just transpired. That _insufferable_ man had essentially told me we would be meeting again in a week; I hadn’t been given an option really, nor had I put up any sort of fight. I _so_ did not want to face the upcoming Friday. _One week_. I did not want anything to do with the brute who stood adjacent to me moments ago with his ridiculously expensive suit and irksome personality. _One week of peace_. I did not want any of this.


	6. She's So Cold

Rolling across the large king-sized mattress, I stretch my arm toward the low table beside the bed and lift my phone to check the time. It’s too early for me to bother thinking about starting my day. I hadn’t exactly been sleeping well since I’d come back home but then again, I’ve always had trouble sleeping.

 _Wednesday_. Today is the fifth day of my blessedly quiet week. Not so much as a peep from Mr. The-Only-Thing-Bigger-Than-My-Grin-Is-My-Ego. I was relieved that he had actually stayed away, but still on edge expecting him to rear his ugly head at any moment. I toss my phone to the other end of the downy comforter and shove my head into my pillow, wanting to squeeze in a few more minutes of sleep. 

My attempt at slumber is rudely interrupted by the chime of my phone’s text tone. Groaning, I wonder who would even be texting me. I had always kept my distance from people and never had many people seeking me out for conversation. 

Curiosity getting the better of me, I sit up and reach out for my phone again. Tapping the button to illuminate the screen, I see a text from a number not saved in my contacts, though I recognize the area code. _New York_. 

I begin to read the preview of the text shown on the lock screen. Not two words into it, I let out a strangled wail of despair as I throw myself backwards into roughly the position of a mangled starfish. 

“Noooo,” I whine into the empty room. “It hasn’t been a week yet, I have two more days. This isn’t _fair_!” _HOW did Negan even get my number?_

I don’t care that I’m behaving like a petulant child. This is ridiculous. This man is persistent as all hell and it seems the less I want to do with him and his cursed lifestyle, the harder he tries to slip himself into my life. 

Mentally preparing myself for whatever utter bullshit he felt couldn’t wait until Friday, I bring the device up to my face again. Sliding my finger across the screen, I open the text and begin to read. 

**+1 (917) 582-4553: Hi doll, got your number from Patrick hope you don’t mind. Change of plans for our little talk. We’ll meet @ Patrick’s office on friday and get all this legal shit outta the way. 5pm**

Rolling my eyes at being told what to do, I give in and realize being difficult isn’t going to help my situation one bit. The quicker I get things figured out with this godforsaken house and this irritating man, the sooner I can get away from the ghosts of my old life. 

Reading over the message one more time, I see three dots pop up at the lower corner of the screen, indicating that he’s typing. _God, what now?_ The message comes through, setting off a staccato buzzing in the palm of my hand. 

**\+ 1 (917) 582-4553: I’m treating you to dinner after the meeting. Wonder if I can’t melt the Ice Queen a little and get to know her. See you soon x**

Letting out a loud scoff of indignation, I lock my phone and lob it across the bed. _Who the fuck does he think he is?_ Scolding myself for letting this human hemorrhoid get to me, I whip my blankets off and set about beginning my day. 

• • • • • • • • • • • 

Friday comes _way_ too fast for my liking. I put off getting ready for this dreaded meeting as long as I possibly can. Eventually I dress myself in a plain black t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and a pair of low heeled ankle boots. I'm not going for anything fancy, it’s not like I have anyone to impress. 

Looking at the clock, I decide I should leave now if I want to get there a few minutes early like I’d planned. I wanted to make sure I didn’t turn up late and make myself look like an asshole. 

I grab my keys, turn off the lights, and head out the front door. The sight I’m met with makes me want to turn right back around, go back inside, and shove my face directly into the garbage disposal in the kitchen. 

There it is, that stupid fucking Impala. Worse than that though, there _he_ is. _Negan_. Smug as you please, standing next to the open driver’s door on the opposite side of the car. His arms are folded and casually resting upon the roof of the car. I can tell from his face that he is in his glory being here, torturing me endlessly. I desperately want to punch that wide smirk right off his face. 

“ _What_ are you doing here? You said we were meeting at the office,” I call out to him. 

“Thought I’d offer you a ride, darlin’,” he gruffs with a sly look. I purse my lips at his obvious innuendo. 

Not willing to give him the satisfaction of getting to me so easily, I can’t help but respond with false innocence. 

“Oh _wow_ , I can’t believe you would do that just for _me_ , you know seeing as I’m an _Ice Queen_ and all.” 

His smirk transforms into a full-blown grin and he throws his head back, letting out a loud, throaty guffaw. As much as I hate to admit it, his hearty laugh and obnoxious reaction to my jab surprise me, and cause my lips to twitch into a minuscule smile. Wiping his eyes, he calms down enough to speak again. 

“Alright, shut that pretty mouth and get in the fuckin’ car, Snowflake,” he retorts. 

His face is amused, but one glance into his eyes and I can see a look that’s just _daring_ me to disobey him and argue. 

I let out a growl and stomp childishly to the car; yanking the chrome handle and swinging the door open. Before I have the chance to lower myself into the seat, his raspy voice reaches my ears. 

“Good girl,” he praises. My eyes shoot up and lock with his as another crooked smirk decorates his handsome face. 

I quickly put an end to our mini staring contest, and scramble into the car; doing my best to ignore the chill that raced down my spine at his words. He plops into the seat beside me, slams the door, and revs the engine; sending vibrations throughout the entire chassis of the vehicle. _Good lord, this is gonna be a long day_. 

Our interaction had distracted me enough that I’d neglected to fasten my seatbelt. I jump back in panic – as far as one can jump with their back pressed against the seat of a car – when I notice Negan leaning close to my face and reaching across my body for the seatbelt. His lips are only inches from my ear and I feel his warm breath fanning over my pale skin when he speaks. 

“Safety first, we’ve got some precious cargo here, beautiful,” he whispers, the warm air he puffs against my neck smelling of mint gum and whiskey, faintly. 

Like a nervous schoolgirl, I gulp loudly and with his proximity, I know he heard it. He slowly brings the belt across my body before clicking it in place, purposely dragging his knuckles along the outside of my left thigh. I enjoy the sensation for a second before I remember who exactly I’m sitting in the car with. 

_His family killed your mother_ , I remind myself, _what the hell are you doing, you idiot? He’s dangerous_. Granted he wasn’t directly responsible – or really at all, as far as I knew – but getting all hot and bothered with the son of the man who was responsible didn’t exactly rate on my list of things I should be doing during my short time back home. 

Clearing my throat, I try to pretend like none of that had just happened. 

“Can we go now?” I ask, trying to sound as non-chalant as possible. 

He takes a moment before he lets out a soft snort through his nose and responds, “Whatever you want, darlin’.”


	7. Break On Through

Not surprisingly, Negan is the first to break the suffocating silence engulfing the car.

"So, you wanna tell me why you didn't answer my texts the other morning?" he asks in a calm tone. 

I can't tell if he's just asking out of curiosity or if he is actually offended that I'd ignored him.  "Um, I forgot about it," I answer in what I hope is a convincing tone. 

I see him whip his head in my direction before glancing back and forth between my face and the road in front of us. I chance a look in his direction and see him smiling. 

"Oh come _on_ , sweetheart," he jests. "I _know_ I had to make a pretty strong first impression. I'm not exactly a forgettable guy." 

Without thinking, I murmur under my breath, "Kinda hard to forget you when you never go away." 

Hearing the snarkiness of my own remark, I remind myself that the man sitting next to me is the head of _the mob_ and mouthing off probably isn't a great start to keeping myself out of trouble. 

The only response I receive is Negan reaching over to pat my leg while he chuckles. I expect him to pull away; instead he wraps his large hand around my jean-clad thigh and squeezes lightly for several moments before releasing me. I stare straight ahead like a deer in headlights, refusing to react to his touch. 

Thankfully, we reach Patrick's office within a few minutes and I welcome the chance to put some distance between Negan and myself. 

Playing the part of the gentleman, Negan opens the door of the building for me and follows close behind me. Continuing his chivalrous charade, he pulls out one of the two chairs opposite Patrick's desk, inviting me to take a seat. 

Patrick enters and begins to rattle off information for Negan's sake, as I'd already discussed the specifics with Patrick over the phone. He goes over the options we have regarding the ownership of our shared property. Before I have a chance to voice my thoughts on the matter, Negan speaks. 

"I'll sign over the property to you, it'll be entirely yours. On _one_ condition. You don't rent it out to anyone and you don't sell it. You live there. If you want full ownership of that place, it's gonna be _yours_." 

I stare in shock and open my mouth to speak, but never get the chance as Negan holds up a finger indicating that he's not finished. 

"Patrick can draw up a contract and you can tweak it so it suits you. The only way I'm gonna sell my half is if you agree to remain the owner and inhabitant." 

With a bewildered look on my face, I stutter out, "What the _hell_ is wrong with you? That's bullshit! You can't force me to stay here. If I'm the sole owner of the property, I can do whatever the fuck I want with it." The more riled up I get, the higher the volume of my voice rises. "You know what, fuck it. You can have the property, I don't care what happens with it. I'm not staying here, fuck that." 

I can already tell from the look in Negan's eyes and the ticking muscle in his jaw that I just stuck my foot directly into my mouth and I am _so_ gonna regret it. 

Breaking the tension awkwardly, Patrick pipes up, "Well um, _actually_ Izzie...remember the bank account I mentioned to you? The $30,000? It can only be inherited through your father's estate, and in order for that to happen you'd have to be an owner or co-owner of the property he bequeathed to his beneficiaries, namely you. He pretty much specified in his will that you had to take all or nothing." 

I can't believe what I am hearing. Initially, I didn't give a shit about that money, but since then I'd made up my mind that I am going to take it and make a new life for myself. Just my luck that it gets pulled out from beneath me like this. _Fuckin' great_. 

Surely there has to be a way that I can make this deal and find some type of loophole so I won't have to stay here for any longer than I wanted to. I don't have a chance to give it much thought when I hear Negan's terse voice. 

"Patrick, how about you go have that lovely secretary of yours write out a contract for us so we can take a look at it and figure out the little details." His voice is tight and I can tell he's putting a lot of effort into staying calm. 

Patrick looks terrified and begins to stammer out some excuse, "I just w--". 

" _Now_ ," Negan growls through gritted teeth. 

I don't dare move a single muscle, stupidly hoping that not bringing attention to myself will somehow make Negan forget I am even sitting here. Patrick stands and makes his way toward the exit. _Dear god, don't leave me in here alone with him, please_. The instant the office door clicks shut, Negan is on me. 

He whips his body toward me; gripping my chin tightly and pulling our faces so closely together that our noses almost brush. His fingertips dig deeper into my jaw as he stares directly in my eyes and launches into an irate rant. 

"Listen to me and listen _good_ , little girl, because I do _not_ like repeating myself. I'm making you an offer you can’t refuse; the opportunity to stay here and have a good life, anything you could possibly want at your fingertips. All you have to do is accept. You should know, there is no door number 2, this is the _only_ way." 

He pauses momentarily, his eyes burning, and I think he's finished berating me. The seconds tick by and I watch as his tongue peeks out to glide across his lower lip before his gravelly voice begins again. 

"You ain't stupid darlin', so I _know_ you haven't forgotten who the fuck I am. You'd do well to remember that the next time you open your fuckin' mouth, and maybe show a little respect. I've let a lot of shit slide, but I've had about enough of your sass. Not to mention all those fuckin' curses you just let fly." 

I at least have the sense to look down sheepishly at his last words, knowing that I'd been pushing my luck with the way I spoke to him since we first met. Not wanting to appear diminutive, my contrition is short lived and I raise my eyes back up a bit to stare at his chest. 

Easily distracted, I notice that he's opted to dress in a more casual way than usual. He had donned his usual white button down shirt and tailored onyx jacket, however he had foregone the tie I'd seen him wear on the last two occasions. My perusal of the skin visible just above the undone top buttons of his shirt is interrupted when he uses his grip on my face to direct my attention back to his fiery stare. 

Still angry, he snarls, "If you _ever_ speak to me that way again -- especially in front of another person -- I'll take you over my knee so fast you won't know what hit you; and I'll spank your ass til it's sore. You wanna act like a child, I will _damn_ sure treat you like one. _Understood_?" 

My face -- and something deep in the pit of my stomach -- burns at his crass words. Shaking slightly from the rush of fear and adrenaline, I nod my head as much as I can with his hand still gripping me. 

"Now," calmer this time, "we're gonna get that contract and we're gonna sign it and everything is gonna be pleasant as punch, dollface. I just want you to understand that I'm only trying to help you out here. You and I both know you got nothin' to go back to at home, wherever the hell that may be. You're better off here. The sooner you get this through that thick-ass skull of yours, the sooner we can be friends. You want that, right?" 

_Do I want that?_ Against my better judgement, I decide that I do and nod my head a second time. 

The fire gone from his eyes, Negan's trademark smirk returns to his face and he releases my chin just in time for Patrick to re-enter the room. I can't help but wonder if his steely grasp would leave a bruise on my skin tomorrow. 

Eyeing us cautiously, Patrick takes a seat at his desk with a single sheet of paper in his hand. He hesitantly slides it in our direction, catching my gaze for a second. I hate that I’m on my own in this situation; knowing that Patrick wouldn’t dare _think_ of defying one of the most powerful men in the organization, lest he lose his job or worse, his life. My emotionless face gives nothing away as I look down and reach for the contract. I don't have a chance as Negan snatches it off the desk. 

Before either of us has even read the document, he scrunches his nose and inquires, "Ya got a pen?"


	8. I Will Drive You Home

On our way back to the car parked alongside the curb, Negan gently grasps my elbow from behind and twirls me around to face him. His eyes scan over my face before he meets my gaze and sucks on his teeth.

“Whadya in the mood for, kid?” he questions, stepping closer and forcing my body to lean against the cool metal of his car. 

Upon seeing my raised eyebrows, his lips split into a dirty grin. “To _eat_ , you lech,” he reprimands, “I did promise to feed you.” 

Slightly embarrassed by my gutter-dwelling mind, I divert my eyes and bring my hand up to scratch nervously at the side of my neck. Wondering if turning down his offer will set him off again, I approach my next sentence with as much caution as possible. 

“I’m, uh, not really hungry. Can you just take me home?” I implore him. “Please?” I tack on for good measure. 

“You sure you don’t wanna eat? Can’t have you starvin’ and witherin’ away on me, doll,” he jokes, reaching out to grasp both sides of my waist gently. 

Giving a timid smile, I return my gaze to his. “I’m fine, thank you though. I’d just like to go home and get some sleep.” 

“Of course, your wish is my command,” he responds amiably, dropping his hands from my hips. Backing out of my personal space, he swings the passenger side door open and stretches his arm in a sweeping motion indicating I should get in. “Madam,” he drawls in a haughty voice. 

“Why thank you, sir,” I quip sarcastically as I lower myself into the seat. Negan swiftly makes his way to the opposite side of the car to join me. Sighing loudly, he squeezes his over-sized legs under the steering wheel and jams the key into the ignition. 

“Dicks in, balls out…home’s a speedin’ ticket away!” he crows loudly. 

Amused by his absurd outburst, I can’t hold back the small giggle that bubbles up from my throat. In the few days I’d known him, this man was proving himself to be quite an enigma. Somehow he’d managed to chip away at my less than pleasant opinion of him with his annoyingly charming personality. It amazed me how he could be a menacing force one second and a complete muppet in the next. His revolving door of different moods is already giving me whiplash. 

Nearing the end of our journey back to my place – it really is mine now, I supposed – I decide to broach the subject of what had gone down back at the law firm. 

“Am I right in assuming that you’d already known about that stipulation my father implemented in his will?” 

Negan's only response is a hum of confirmation so I continue. “How did you know about that secret bank account my father had for me? You knew I’d have to agree to your asinine deal in order to access it. The content of his will wasn’t exactly any of your business, that information never should’ve been given to you.” I try my best to leave my tone free of accusation. 

“I _own_ this town, Izzie. I know _everything_ , I am _everywhere_ ,” he intones cockily. 

His response is enough to stop me from questioning further and I look out the window to see we’re pulling down my street already. The car turns into my driveway and cruises slowly toward the house. Expecting him to just drop me in front of the house and go, I look over in confusion when Negan turns the key to shut the engine. He exits the car and makes his way to my door; offering his hand, he pulls me from the car and places his hand against the small of my back to direct me toward the porch. _What a gentleman_. 

When we reach the door, I turn to wish him a good night. Before I can speak, he opens his mouth. _It’s never shut for long anyway_. 

“I’m takin’ a raincheck on dinner. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 7, it’s a date,” he states confidently. 

His cockiness makes me consider rejecting his offer, but I figure one dinner couldn’t hurt, even if people would gossip about me being seen in public with a known criminal. _It’s NOT a date_ , I assure myself. _Just dinner…I can do that_. 

“Fine,” I sigh, giving in to his demanding behavior. 

“Huh, I _like_ that. A little cooperation; that shit just _tickles_ my balls!” he proclaims. 

_Christ, he’s incorrigible_. Deciding I can’t take another second of his ever-lasting vulgarity, I slide my key into the lock as I regard him over my shoulder. 

“Goodnight, Negan,” his name feels strange rolling off my tongue for the first time. 

Crowding my space, he gently lays his hand upon my cheek and rotates my face toward him. 

“’Night, sweetheart,” he whispers before placing a soft kiss on the cheek not covered by his fingers. His eyes fall to my lips as he reaches up to stroke a finger over the spot his lips had caressed only moments before. 

He turns then, retreating to his car and leaving me standing there like an idiot, dumbstruck. The din of the Impala’s engine roaring to life snaps me out of it and I quickly turn to shove my front door open and stumble into the foyer.


	9. I've Got You Under My Skin

Feeling refreshed after my first blissfully long night of sleep, I step from my shower and start my morning. Or afternoon rather, seeing as I’d slept in and it is now well past noon. I decide my unruly hair isn’t worth dealing with right now and braid two loose, messy pigtails into my damp crimson tresses.

As I head down the stairs, I hear the musical chime of my doorbell. With a disturbingly Pavlovian response, I immediately expect to find the tall, dark, and handsome Mafioso awaiting entry. I _hate_ the slight twinge of excitement I feel at the thought. 

Throwing open the heavy oak door, it takes me a moment to recognize the person facing me. _Decidedly NOT Negan_. 

“Derek?!” _Holy shit_. 

Stood before me is Derek Francesco; the mob’s own personal accountant and my late father’s closest friend. My father had grown up with Derek and he was like an uncle to me. 

“Hi, Isabella,” he states shyly, “boy, you’ve grown up!” 

Not bothering with conversation, I reach out and pull Derek into a tight hug, inhaling his distinct scent of scotch and cigars that I recalled from my childhood. It is oddly comforting to see the older man again. I invite him into the house and shut the door. 

“How’ve you been? How’s your family?” I ask earnestly. 

I can tell from his twitchy behavior that something is up. “See, well, now that’s why I’m here. Folks have been talkin’ and I heard you were home. I wanted to come pay my respects and I, uh, have kind of a favor to ask.” 

“Okay, what is it?” I wonder. 

“I hate to come here like this and ask this of you, but I could really use your help. My wife left me a few years ago, she took everything. She left me with two daughters and no money. We’re really strugglin’, yanno?” he declares. 

“I don’t–,” I begin, before he cuts me off. 

“I know I shouldn’t even be askin’, but your dad and I were real close and we’d do anything for each other. You know, I was the accountant for the Giovanzo family…in charge of all the money. Your dad trusted me. I know about that account your old man had, I’m the one who deposited the cash into it. There’s a lotta money sittin’ there and I just figured maybe you could spare some for an old friend, yeah?” 

Seeing that he’s finished with his solicitation, I _tsk_ pitifully. “Of course I’ll help you, Derek. You’re like family to me. I haven’t had a chance to head to the bank, but once I do I’ll withdraw some money and drop it off for you. You still livin’ in the same house?” 

“Yes, yeah. Oh jeez, thank you Bella. Thank you so much,” he cries. We embrace again as he continues to thank me. 

I pull away and smile kindly at Derek. A strange look passes over his face and suddenly he’s fidgeting again. As fast as he showed up, he announces that he needs to leave and he promptly flees my house. 

_Huh, weird. Whatever_. 

Looking at the clock, I see I have a few hours to waste before Negan picks me up. I hear my phone chirp from the countertop in the kitchen and stride over to pick it up. _Speak of the devil_. I – stubbornly – still hadn’t saved his number to my phone, but I knew it is him. 

**+1 (917) 582-4553: Taking you to Rigoletto’s. It’s fancy, wear a dress ;)**

_Did this grown-ass man really just send me a winky face?_ Smirking at his antics, I place my phone back on the counter and head upstairs to fix my hair and slap a little makeup on my face before our non-date. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

6:55 rolls around faster than I anticipate and I hear my doorbell ring for the second time that night. I slink down the stairs in my platform pumps and form-fitting jersey tank dress. I grab my phone and shove it deep into my bra, not that I’d really need it. Taking a deep breath, I give myself a brief pep talk and slip out to the porch. 

The first thing I notice is how dashing Negan looks in his sleek tailored suit. The next thing I notice is the way his eyes darken and his pupils dilate as he takes in my outfit. 

“Hot _diggity_ dog, darlin’ you look deee-licious!” he howls. 

Blushing, I swat him away with my hand. “Knock it off. C'mon, I’m starving.” 

He bites his lip and laughs wickedly, “Oh ho ho, baby I know. I am _famished_ and you look good enough to eat.” 

“Do you ever stop?” I yell, good-naturedly. 

Leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, “Not ‘til your legs are shakin’,” he grins. 

“ _Negan_!” I scold. 

“Okay, okay. Let’s get goin’ before I drag your sweet ass back in that house,” he says with a laugh. I don’t know what the hell has gotten into him, but he is being more crude than I had ever seen him. _This is going to be the longest dinner EVER_. 

Once in the car, Negan tells me that our dinner reservations aren’t until 8 and instead drives me to a nearby park to waste some time. We leisurely stroll along the paved path twining through the landscape, a comfortable silence surrounding us. That is, until he starts to whistle out a familiar tune. It takes me a second to recognize the notes and when I do, I chuckle quietly. _Strangers In The Night. Of course the mobbie likes Sinatra; what a cliché_ , I muse. Flicking his wrist out to check his expensive watch, Negan directs me back to the car. 

After a short drive, we pull up to the restaurant where we’re greeted by a valet. _Man, he wasn’t lying…this place is fancy_. Suddenly feeling out of place, I awkwardly place my hand in Negan’s as he helps me out of the car and leads me to into the restaurant. 

Immediately, we’re approached by the host who enthusiastically shakes Negan’s hand. 

“Mr. Giovanzo, so good to see you again!” he sings, before turning to me. “Welcome, it’s a pleasure to have you with us tonight. I hope you enjoy your meal.” I am awed by the aura of respect Negan carries with him. I almost expected people to start kneeling at his feet.  _Of course everyone in this town treats him like a damn king_. We thank him as he passes us off to a young waiter who seats us in a far corner of the restaurant, where the dimmed lights give a sense of privacy. 

Reaching the U-shaped booth, I take a seat expecting Negan to sit at the other side, directly across from me. Instead, he sits down next to me, prompting me to slide deeper into the curve of the booth. I continue moving in an attempt to leave some space between us, but Negan wraps a muscular arm around my lower back and yanks me close to his side. Leaving his hand resting just above my left hip, he peruses the menu, flipping the pages with his right hand. 

Crossing my right leg over my left, I request a glass of white wine from the waiter the moment he finishes his default speech about the restaurant’s specials. He swiftly returns with the glass and I greedily take several sips. Negan and I place our orders and settle in for the waiter to return with our food soon. 

“Are you wearing panties?” he asks casually, as if he’s inquiring about the weather. 

His sudden utterance paired with the frankly lewd question throws me for a loop and in my panic, I splutter, “Why, you wanna borrow ‘em?” 

I don’t look his way, but from the corner of my eye, I can see his lips quirking into a smile. Struggling to maintain my composure, the movement of his hand from my left hip to my right leg does absolutely nothing to ease the tension wracking my body. 

The feeling of his lips brushing my ear causes me to jump. “Relax, doll,” he breathes, causing the hair along the side of my face to flutter slightly. His fingers squeeze my knee gently before his thumb starts to massage slow circles into the skin. 

To my utter relief, the waiter chooses that moment to deliver our plates to the table. I let a whoosh of breath rush from my lips, not caring that Negan could definitely hear it. _Fuckin’ bastard_. He knows he is torturing me, I can just _feel_ the arrogance rolling off of him. 

The idle chit-chat we keep between bites calms me enough that I actually enjoy my meal. The glass of wine I’d polished off didn’t hurt either. Occasionally, Negan steals bits of food off my plate or feeds me forkfuls from his own. I cringe a bit at how domestic it all feels. 

Finishing our meals, we both lean back against the booth and sigh contentedly as the waiter clears the table. Knowing that our meal is on the house – courtesy of my dinner companion’s personal posse of ass-kissers – I’m aware that the waiter won’t be returning with a bill so we won’t be bothered again. Negan sees that as an opportunity to replace his hand just above my knee. _Dear lord, here we go again_. 

“You never answered my question,” he says seriously. 

“Negan…" I warn. 

Clicking his tongue at me, he speaks again. “Hmm. Guess I’ll just check for myself,” he mutters. 

Using his hold on my leg, he inches his hand further up my thigh. Gripping it tightly, he tugs harshly, uncrossing my legs. I let out a tiny gasp, and hate to admit that I’m definitely turned on now. 

The further his hand creeps, the more sure I am that my underwear are going to be ruined by the end of the night. When he starts to hike my short dress even higher, I slam my legs shut and grip his wrist tightly, effectively trapping his hand between my thighs. 

“Izzie,” he drags out, in a warning tone. I refuse to respond, hoping he’ll ease up. _No such luck_. “Let. Go.” 

Squeezing my eyes shut with a deep breath, I obey. I pull my hand back and spread my thighs slightly to release his hand. Speeding things up, his hand brushes up against my panty-covered mound and I suck in a breath when his pinky finger drags back and forth slowly. 

“ _Lace_ panties, niiice,” he groans. “And,” he continues, “they’re fuckin’ _soaked_.” 

I can’t stop the whimper that escapes me at his growled tone. My thighs spread further of their own accord when he presses his fingers against me more firmly. 

“Relax for me, sweetheart,” Negan reiterates. Before I have a chance to listen to his advice, his fingertips pull my panties aside and sweep across my moistened folds. Slowly, he drags a single finger up to the bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs and circles it rhythmically. 

My body tenses and I struggle to hold back my moans, trying to focus on anything but the pleasure exploding between my thighs. Negan moves lower to swirl a digit around my entrance several times before inserting it, driving it shallowly in and out of my body. 

After several strokes, he shoves his finger deeper, then inserts a second one alongside it. Renewing his earlier pumping motion, he begins scissoring his finger slightly, forcing my body to accommodate him. The feeling of fullness causes me to cry out. 

“Shh, be quiet. You don’t want us to get caught, do you?” he asks. Wanting exactly the opposite of that, I clamp my mouth shut. _You’re in a public place letting a dude you barely know finger you, yeah, no big deal_. The danger of being caught is an added thrill and only serves to turn me on more. _As if that were possible_. 

The adrenaline rush paired with Negan’s fingers pushing into me insistently is wreaking havoc on my body and I can feel myself rushing closer to my release. Needing something more to get there, I begin squirming, grinding my hips and trying to seek any sort of friction. 

“Sit still,” he commands, pressing his warm lips against the heated skin of my neck and quickening the pace of the hand rocking between my damp thighs. “You’re so fuckin’ close, aren’t you?” The only response I’m capable of is a pathetic whine. My mind is foggy and I’m too far gone to do anything but _feel_. 

“So fuckin’ wet,” he mumbles amongst a litany of various dirty, incoherent words; mixing with my pleasured sounds. He presses his thumb against my clit and the added stimulation sends my heart rate skyrocketing. 

“Let go, cum. Fuckin’ _cum_ for me,” he growls as loud as he dares in the public setting. 

His raspy words are followed by a sharp bite on the sensitive flesh of my jaw and his heavy breathing in my ear; both working perfectly to push me to my climax as I slam my thighs together. Letting out a sound somewhere between a sob and a groan, my walls clench his fingers in a vice grip and both my hands shoot out to grasp his wrist. 

“Negan,” I moan his name breathlessly as he continues to rub against my clit while I ride out my orgasm. I briefly wonder if the nails I’m digging into his wrist and forearm are hurting him, then I realize I _don’t_ fucking care. 

I barely register the feeling of Negan placing several wet kisses against my jaw as I’m still coming down from my high. He runs the tip of his nose from my jaw to my ear, nipping my earlobe gently. 

“Such a good girl,” he breathes directly into my ear. 

I shudder, a combination of his words and the aftermath of my orgasm. I relax my thighs and allow him to pull his hand away, noticing the moisture coating his fingers just as our waiter pops around the corner. I pray he thinks the flushed color of my skin is from the wine I’d had to drink and not due to the fact I’d just been finger fucked at a dinner table. 

“Interested in any desserts tonight?“ he asks with pep, likely wondering why we still hadn’t left the table. 

Looking directly into my eyes, Negan responds for the both of us. “Nah we’re good buddy, thanks.” Maintaining eye contact, he lifts his hand towards his face. He pops the two glistening fingers into his mouth and sucks, lasciviously cleaning them of my juices, then doing the same with his thumb. 

“Mm, sweet,” he moans. My lips part slightly and I decide being set on fire would make me less hot than this man did. 

Somehow managing to gather himself – a feat I envied at the moment – Negan softly asks to borrow my phone. Seeing the confusion written on my face, he offers an explanation. 

“My phone died, I just need to make a quick call,” he states. 

Reaching into my bra, I produce the small electronic, causing Negan to smirk at where I’d stowed it. I quickly punch in my passcode and hand it to him, searching out the glass of cold water set on the tabletop to quench my recently founded thirst. After only a few moments, Negan hands my phone back, claiming he didn’t remember the number for whoever he was trying to reach. _Whatever, dude_. 

Finally having enough time to recover from Negan’s onslaught of pleasure, we rise from the booth. Wobbling on legs made of limp spaghetti all the way outside, the valet quickly fetches Negan’s trusty ride and he whisks us away back to my house. 

Much like the night before, Negan accompanies me to the door. Unsure of what to say, I merely look up at him. Blushing lightly, I nervously mumble a quick word of thanks for the evening we’d had. _Why am I acting like an awkward teen virgin?_

“Ya gonna give me a good night kiss, darlin’?” he asks with humor in his voice. 

Deciding to give him a taste of his own sarcasm-flavored medicine, I laugh inwardly as a smile breaks out across my face. 

“Sorry, I don’t kiss on the first date,” I reply, voice dripping with falsified honey. The shocked expression on his face alone made it worth it. 

“Oh, you _better_ be jokin’!” he declares. From the look on my face he knows not to expect a response so he continues. “Babe, you just came all over my fingers in a restaurant full of people. Now cut the bullshit and give me a fuckin’ kiss.” 

I can’t help but laugh at Negan’s cocky attitude; it was definitely starting to grow on me. Tilting my head up and standing on my toes to meet his lips, I give him a small peck. Neither impressed nor satisfied, he shoves his hands into the hair on either side of my head, yanks me closer and plants a sloppy kiss directly on my parted lips. 

Unable to help myself, I kiss him several more times before nipping at his bottom lip. Pulling away with a groan, Negan stares at me with lust-filled eyes. 

“Wanna take this inside?” he teases. 

I know he’s joking, but I also know Negan and I know that if I say yes, whatever this thing between us is, it’s gonna head in a direction I don’t think I want to deal with. _You already let this go further than it should’ve, dumbass_. 

Coming to my senses, I playfully push him away, shaking my head. His throaty chuckle sends shivers down my spine. 

“S'alright doll, I can wait. The delayed gratification is gonna make the victory all the _sweeter_ ,” he whispers with an animalistic grin, placing extra emphasis on the end of his sentence; a blatant reminder of his words back at the restaurant. 

_What am I getting myself into?_


	10. Put Your Money On Me

It had been several days since my interesting evening with Negan. The morning after our dinner, I’d woken up to a text from a contact that seriously confused me. It took several seconds of scrutiny before I could wrap my head around the name I was seeing displayed on my phone. It wasn’t until I recalled Negan stealing my phone the previous night that I realized what he had done.

 **Daddy: Thanks for dessert last night, sweet thing ;)**

_What. An. Asshole._ How audacious and inappropriate could this guy be? Still slightly affronted by the name he’d chosen to input for himself in my phone, I debated whether I should respond. _He DID give me a pretty decent orgasm, I guess the least I can do is text him back_ , I mused. Deciding I was just a tad obligated to respond, I still wasn’t going to make it easy for him. I couldn’t help my need to be a little shit. 

** > Sorry my dad is dead, not really sure who this is**

Knowing Negan would immediately catch on to my reference to his little stunt, I smiled with satisfaction and awaited his reaction. In the meantime, I’d changed his contact to his actual name while I giggled thinking of all the possible names I _wanted_ to assign to his contact. 

Since that conversation, I hadn’t heard much of anything from Negan. I was sure he was busy spending his days doing something more important than texting; he is the head of a major crime syndicate after all. As much as I am enjoying the escape from his taxing personality, I had to admit that I kind of miss his ability to keep me on my toes at all times. I'm so bored sitting at home alone every day, even his annoying arrogance and dirty mouth would be an improvement on my mood. 

Making the decision to go out and do _something_ , I riffle through my ever-growing stack of legal papers to search for the copy of my father’s will. With nothing else to do, I decide to head to the bank to withdraw the money I’d inherited. 

When I reach the small bank, I lean into the backseat of my car to grab a duffle bag. I know transferring such a large sum of money into my personal bank account would raise some serious red flags, so I’d opted to take it all in cash. Approaching the young blonde teller seated behind the desk, I relay the number of the account and watch as she pulls the information up on the screen of her computer. She requests my ID and a copy of the will, ensuring that I had in fact inherited the money and that I am who I say I am. 

“Hope you brought a bag big enough for $65,000, Ms. Moretti,” she quips humorously. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I ask her, assuming she’d just made a mistake. 

She hadn’t. Spinning the illuminated monitor in my direction, she points to the number displaying the balance of the account. _Sixty five fucking thousand_. 

I can’t believe what I'm seeing. I knew my father was meticulous in most everything he did and there is no way he’d kept such an inaccurate record of something as important to him as his money. Then a thought occurs to me. 

_Derek_. 

He’d told me that my father had put him in charge of depositing money into that particular account. Somewhere deep down, I know there’s something fishy going on; wondering if that was the cause of Derek’s antsy behavior when he came to visit me. 

That’s when the panic sets in and my mind starts reeling. _Where did the extra money come from? Why did he put it into MY account? Why did he choose now to come get it?_ I have a pretty good idea as far as an answer to all of the questions racing through my mind, and I'm not sure I like the way things are panning out. 

My immediate explanation is, of course, the Giovanzo mob family. I had really been hoping to stay far the fuck away from them while I was here. _Yeah, you did a real bang-up job of keeping your distance so far_ , I berate myself. 

Derek had said he _was_ the accountant for the family and I subconsciously wonder why he no longer held that title. Putting the pieces together quickly, I presume he’d been embezzling funds and no one knew where that money was; that was why Derek had come looking for it now that my father was out of the way. Which led me to the next question of whether someone had discovered Derek’s misdeed and whether they knew the money is currently in _my_ possession. 

That final thought brings me back to reality and hastens my decision to get that money and get the fuck out of there before someone comes looking for it, or me. Shoving the large canvas bag across the surface separating us, I mentally will the teller to hurry the hell up as she heads in the back to the secure vault. 

Several minutes later, she returns; duffle bag stuffed full of hundred dollar bills. I snatch the bag, thank her, and haul ass back to my car. Feeling even more paranoid than when I’d first arrived in town, I whip my head back and forth to scan my surroundings before climbing into my car and heading home. 

I practically jog through my front door upon my arrival and head straight into the master bedroom. I crash the door of the walk-in closet open and chuck the duffle bag into the furthest corner. Breathing out, I shut the closet door and head downstairs. Walking to the kitchen, I decide to make something to eat to distract myself. I begin to wonder whether I should take my money and run. I briefly consider contacting Patrick and asking about the additional money, but ultimately decide against it, lest I risk losing said money. I realize I’m probably being greedy, but after the shit I’d been through I _deserved_ the new start I’d be getting with this money. 

Not allowing my mind to dwell too much, I finish my lunch and head back upstairs to fetch the money. Fueled by my never-ending paranoia, I know I need to hide this money somewhere no one will find it. I head out the back door and grab a shovel from the rickety garden shed situated in the corner of the yard. Dropping my cash stash on the ground with a dull thunk, I start digging in the patch of soil that had once been a beautiful flower garden. I continue my excavation until I’ve achieved a hole deep enough to bury the black bag. 

I push the duffle into the hole with my foot and proceed to cover it entirely with dirt. Satisfied with my hiding spot, I return the shovel and wipe my grimy hands on my jeans. Remembering that I hadn’t retrieved the mail in the days since I’d been home, I stride around the perimeter of the property and down the driveway to the box. 

I pay no attention to the sound of an engine idling nearby as I flip through the stack of envelopes in my hands. Hearing a sound behind me, I rotate my body quickly to find the source of the noise. The sight of the masked figure startles me, but before I can react, a raised arm swings toward my skull and I’m knocked unconscious with a blunt object.


	11. Leave Me In The Dark

_Ouch_.

My return to consciousness is accompanied by an absolute _bitch_ of a headache. Crumpling my face in pain, I feel a strange tightness pull on the skin along the left side of my face. Based on my throbbing skull and the scent of iron tinging the air, I surmise it’s dried blood, cracking with the wrinkling of my face. I go to reach my hand up to the side of my tender skull and it’s then I come to the realization that I have been restrained. Tied together at the wrists by what feels suspiciously like a cable tie, my hands are secured behind me; threaded through the rungs along the back of the rickety steel chair I’m sat upon. Looking down I see my legs have received a similar treatment. A thin strip of nylon circles each ankle, secured to the legs of the chair. _What the actual FUCK_. 

In an attempt to figure out where the hell I am and what the hell is going on, I swing my head to either side of the room I’m in, to no avail. It’s too dark to see much of anything, but I’m almost positive I’m in some sort of large, abandoned factory. I hear the scuffling of footsteps growing closer and prepare myself to face whichever motherfucker thought it was okay to pull this shit. 

“Nice of you to join me, Bella,” a male voice calls out. 

The shortened version of my name gives my captor away immediately and I can’t say I’m all that surprised at this turn of events. Raising my head to look up at Derek, I voice my contempt at the situation I am in. 

“What the _fuck_ , is going on, Derek? Why am I here, tied to a fuckin’ chair?” 

He looks at me with pomposity before condescendingly stating, “ _Surely_ you've figured it out by now.” 

His mood switches suddenly as he approaches swiftly and thrusts a hand out to grip my throat tightly. “I told you I needed that money, bitch!” he thunders. Drawing back slightly at the volume of his voice, I fight to speak around the hand constricting my windpipe. 

“I told you I would give you money and help you out,” I choke desperately. 

“No,” he begins. “That’s not good enough, I need _all_ the money.” 

Anger shoots through my body at his claim. “Abso-fuckin’-lutely not,” I fume. The sharp sting across my right cheek from his back-handed slap causes me to gasp loudly. Kneeling in front of me, he leans uncomfortably close to my face. 

“Listen to me, you little _bitch_. I risked my ass to get that money, it’s _mine_. I worked long and hard to slip that shit under your old man’s nose for the last few years, and I’ll be goddamned if I let his spoiled brat _thieve_ it from me,” he sneers. 

“I’m sorry Der–,” I mutter, before I’m cut off by another back-handed slap; this one significantly harder than the last. 

“Let me make this perfectly clear to you,” he bellows. “I need to disappear and I _can’t do that_ without my fuckin’ money. I’m not leaving until I get it.” 

Trying my best to mask the fear I know is evident in my eyes, I merely stare at the man I’d once trusted. He sees that I have no response and turns away, beginning to pace back and forth in front of me. 

“Do you know who Sy Berman is?” he inquires. 

_Of course I do_ , I think. I didn’t need direct involvement with the mob to know that Sy is the brutally violent leader of the Chicago outfit. “Yes,” I respond simply. 

“Good, then you’re well aware of his reputation?” he ponders, waiting for my nod of confirmation. “The money I’ve skimmed was part of a payment meant for Sy and some of his associates. As you can imagine, by now he’s figured out he’s been shorted. Of course being the accountant up until recently, that deficit can be traced _directly_ back to me. So you see, I need that money to disappear…without it, I’m a dead man.” 

Finishing his narrative, Derek stops to stand in front of me. Enraged by the fact that I’d been dragged into this calamity caused by his stupidity, I rear my head and spit in the direction of his face. His reaction is prompt; wrapping my hair around one of his fists and yanking my head back at an angle. 

“It’s not my fault you decided to cheat a notorious criminal, you fuckin’ moron,” I bark irately. “Go fuck yourself.” 

Derek bares his teeth at my jab before sending his fist flying at my face and catching me directly in the nose. The flow of viscous fluid dripping from my nostrils is instantaneous. By this point, Derek’s body is vibrating with rage. “I could just kill you myself because if you don’t hand over that money, I’m dead anyway, so why not bring you down with me?” he threatens. 

Continuing with his intimidation, he utters more warnings.  "Do you know how easy it would be for me to turn you over to Sy and blame this all on you? After all, the money is in _your_ account. I can promise you Sy won’t be as gentle with you as I’ve been,“ the longer he speaks, the angrier he gets. 

“I’ll let you walk away from here, but not before throwing you to the wolves,” he booms, yelling now. “Sy will hunt you down and tear you limb from limb!” 

At that moment, I hear quite possibly the worst sound I can imagine. _My phone_. Derek immediately reaches for my back pocket and yanks the noisy object out. Holding the phone at an angle that we can both view the screen, he chortles in astonishment. I cringe as I see the text splashed across the screen. 

**Negan: i miss the way your face looks when you cum**

_Jesus Christ_. I promise myself then and there that if I made it out of here alive, I am going to kill Negan. 

“How _proud_ your father would be to know you’re slutting it up with the spoiled fuckin’ prince of crime,” he taunts. Almost as if he’s reading my mind, Derek’s next statement sends a fresh bolt of fear through my body. 

“I hope you don’t think that fuckin’ clown can protect you. You should know that as far as Sy is concerned, that little shit is _just_ as responsible for that stolen money. He’ll come for Negan too, and don’t think he won’t bring down all the people around him. You’re fucked no matter what _princess_ , so your best bet is to cooperate.” 

Feeling defeated and knowing I have no choice, I nod my head in resignation. When Derek reaches into his pocket to pull out a check made out to himself and bearing the numbers of the account I’d emptied earlier that day, my stomach drops. _Oh, fuck_. 

“Sign this and we can both get outta here,” he commands. “It’s either your signature or your fuckin’ brains on that check.” 

“I can’t,” I whisper, my voice shaking. 

Not bothering to respond he reaches into his pocket again, this time producing a small switchblade. Flicking the button to release the blade, he slashes it across the top of my right thigh causing me to shriek at the burning sensation. 

“Stop! I can’t! That account is empty!” Mercifully, his confusion at my screamed words gives me enough time to explain. “I emptied the account today, I have the cash hidden,” I pant, watching through the slice in my jeans as the blood spills rapidly from my wound. _Thank god it’s not deeper_ , I reflect, assuring myself that he hadn’t hit my artery. 

Calming only slightly, he informs me, “You’re going to get it and bring it to me. I need it by the end of the week. I’ll be having someone follow you to make sure you don’t do anything fuckin’ _stupid_. Understood?” I nod frantically, hoping he won’t hurt me further. My legs are covered in the blood flowing from my nose, as well as from the gash on my thigh – which is now dripping onto the dirty concrete below me. 

“Do the smart thing, Isabella,” he offers as his final words before tossing my phone into my lap and kicking his foot out to topple the chair I’m tethered to, then hastily exiting the room. 

The fall and subsequent landing provoked by Derek’s outburst puts a strain on my bound hands, causing the cable tie around my wrists to break. Relieved that I am at least half free, I assess my injuries. Groaning at the renewed pain blooming from the impact of my abused cheek on the cold surface of the floor, I pull my bruised wrists around to the front of my body. I wipe gently under my nose and regard my crimson colored fingers for a moment. Worst of all is the laceration carved into my leg. _That’s definitely gonna need stitches_ , I analyze, as I spot the small puddle of blood pooling beneath my leg. The loss of blood paired with my exhaustion and the fact that my adrenaline was steadily wearing off causes a massive wave of nausea to roll over me. 

_I need help_.


	12. With A Little Help From My Friends

I fight like hell to fend off the dizziness threatening to overtake me. My legs are still fastened to the chair and I flail wildly until I hear the sharp snap of the ties. Remembering my extracted phone, I scoot on my hands and knees to where it rests several feet away, leaving a gruesome snail-trail of sticky, red liquid in my wake. My bloody hand leaves scarlet streaks across the glowing glass of the device as I swipe and tap various buttons.

Without thinking it over, I immediately open my message thread with Negan. Going to a hospital with my injuries would raise too many questions; being on the wrong side of the law and having experience with similar situations, I know Negan is my only option. I hesitate, knowing if I text him that I need help, he’ll panic and end up driving like a maniac to get to me. 

Instead, I opt to tap the button to drop a pin from my phone to his, indicating to him where I’m located. I desperately hope the mysterious lack of context to that gesture will intrigue him without panicking him and he’ll come to my rescue without killing himself in the process. 

Exhaustion envelops me and I lean over, gently resting my aching head on the cool stone. _I wonder if I have a concussion_ , I ponder as my eyes slide closed. I can hear my phone ringing and I know it’s most likely Negan, but I’m too tired to pick up, let alone actually speak to him. _Now he’s probably gonna worry_ , I register as I slip into a state bordering somewhere between conscious and well, _not_ conscious. 

The next thing I’m aware of is a repetitive, metallic clanging. Even in my weak and weary condition, the loud bang is driving me crazy. For a moment I worry that Derek had decided I wasn’t worth the trouble and is coming back to finish me off. My unease is assuaged when I hear a familiar voice. 

“Izzie!” I hear Negan shout. I speculate about how big this building is and how long it will take him to find me. Too fatigued to make a sound, I can do nothing but wait. At long last, I hear his speedy footfalls nearing me. 

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” he decrees, his voice sounding pained. 

It takes what little energy I have left, but I roll slightly to look at the man jogging over to my decrepit body. He’s dressed much differently than I’d grown accustomed to; his long legs clad in gray jeans with a leather jacket blanketing his t-shirt covered shoulders and a deep red scarf wrapped loosely around his throat. Dropping to his knees, he slides close to my side, concern painting his striking face. 

“What happened, baby?” he softly interrogates. Giving as little information as possible about what transpired, I list off my catalog of injuries. His face grows more and more distraught with each item. 

Negan addresses the worst of my injuries first, pulling his scarf from around his neck to wrap tightly around my thigh in a makeshift tourniquet. The throbbing pain of my ailing limb starts to take it’s toll and makes me queasy, darkness tickles the edges of my vision. _I am such a wimp_. 

“Hey, look at me…stay with me, doll,” he pleads gently. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, Iz.” 

Watching Negan’s disgruntled face as he tends to me, I somehow manage to still be a smartass; hoping to ease the tension of the situation. My slipping consciousness causes my eyes to roll to the back of my head, but I manage to force them to their rightful place long enough to slur out a lame joke. 

“You know,” I start, grabbing his attention immediately, “if you keep frowning like a grumpy old man, your face is gonna get stuck like that.” Both worry and amusement color his features as I mumble. “And there’s no point keeping you around without that handsome face to stare at,” I finish, finally letting myself slip into the creeping darkness. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

When I make my grand re-entrance into reality, my entire body is positively _aching_. I find myself on a couch in a room I don’t recognize. The light peeking through a nearby window indicates that it’s early in the morning. Looking to my left, I spot Negan’s massive 6 foot form cramped into an armchair, snoring softly. _Probably his house_. 

Lifting the blanket covering me, I sit up and see the blood-stained right leg of my pants had been cropped off, most likely to make room for the gauzy bandage now surrounding my injured thigh. I laugh, imagining how much Negan probably just wanted to take my pants off altogether, but I appreciate his civility nonetheless. 

It’s not long before Negan rouses from his slumber, and regards me sleepily. Clamoring to his feet, he moves closer and plants himself on the coffee table in front of me. “How you feelin’, sweetheart?” he implores. 

“Like I got hit by a train,” I answer honestly. 

He smiles sympathetically before rising; returning momentarily with a handful of painkillers and a bottle of water. I thank him and down the pills gratefully. Reaching out to grasp my hand in his long fingers, he utters the sentence I’d been dreading. 

“Tell me what happened, Izzie,” he proclaims. 

I gulp quietly and rapidly formulate a response I hope will satisfy him. I know I cannot tell him the truth, he’s bound to do something rash and violent to handle it, and I can’t allow that. _This is my battle to fight, sorry dude_. 

“I don’t know. I got knocked out in my driveway and woke up in that building. Some guy said he wanted money from me. I don’t know who, he wore a mask. I told him I didn’t have any money and I guess he just left me there. Then you showed up. That’s all I know,” I lie through my teeth. 

Negan somehow seems to accept my story as he nods solemnly and changes the subject. “I have some shit to take care of today, people to talk to. I’m gonna have to leave you here alone. There’s a guard at the front gate if you need anything, or you can call me,” he instructs. _Man, that brings me back_. Everyone who had an in with the mob was always all secrets and vagueness anytime they did _anything_. 

Not bothering to get annoyed at him being less than forthcoming about where he is going or when he’d be back, I just move on. Recalling the events of last night as well as Derek’s demands, I want nothing more than to go home and get that damned bag of money. 

“Negan, how am I getting home? Are you coming back for me?” I plead in distress. 

A tiny smile graces his plump lips as he leans over, gently tilting my head back, and places a tender kiss on my forehead. 

“I’ll always come back for you, baby,” he whispers sincerely. 

Meeting his stare, I can see in his eyes that there’s a deeper meaning to his softly spoken words; something I can’t quite identify, but it sends a spear of panic stabbing through my chest.


	13. Take Lots With Alcohol

It takes approximately 10 minutes before I am up and exploring once Negan leaves. _What can I say, I’m a nosy bitch_. The first thing I do is locate a pair of scissors to hack off the remaining leg of my destroyed jeans, not wanting to walk around like an idiot with one pant leg.

Making my way in and out of each room on the first floor, I’m astounded by how lavish Negan’s home is. Gaudy almost, but somehow it fits his flashy and obnoxious personality. 

I reach a short hallway and open the first door on my right. Swinging the door open, I step into the room and realize I’ve found Negan’s office. I _know_ I shouldn’t snoop, but I can’t help myself. I step further into the spacious room and scan the assortment of photos hanging from the light gray walls. 

Seeing several faces I was once very familiar with, I start having flashbacks to my childhood; my father’s involvement with these people, and the things I’d gone through and done as a young girl. The trip down memory lane reminds me what this institution had taken from me and the pain it had caused as a result. My eyes fall on a picture of Negan, smiling beside an older man who looks disturbingly similar. I know right away that it’s his father, the root of all my problems. 

In a moment of guilt and self-doubt, I ask myself what the _hell_ I’m doing getting involved with these people again. Somehow I’d let myself get pulled back in and ended up at the side of the ex bosses’ son. Yanno, the son currently in charge of the mob family that destroyed my life. _My mother must be rolling in her grave. I NEVER should’ve let Negan get this close_ , I lecture myself. _I shouldn’t be anywhere near him, I shouldn’t be here in his house_. 

Before I have a chance to come to my senses and get my ass out of here, I hear the slamming of the front door. Not wanting to be caught red-handed, I jump into action and run back into the hallway, crossing to the other side and entering the adjacent bathroom. _Close one_. 

I walk to the sink and turn the taps, letting the water run for several seconds to add some conviction to my guise. I step out of the bathroom, not hearing any movement in the house. Slinking in the direction of the kitchen, I call out quietly, “Negan?” 

From around the corner steps a man with long black hair, and it takes me only a moment to realize the person who’d come through the front door was _definitely_ not Negan. My initial thought is that he’s the person Derek had sent to follow me. Caught off guard, I gasp and my spine straightens in fear. Before I open my mouth to ask who he is, the man greets me. 

“Yo, what’s hangin’ babes?” he salutes, mumbling around a mouthful of food. 

Raising my eyebrows, I let myself relax a little; figuring if this guy is Derek’s crony, he probably wouldn’t be acting so casual and probably wouldn’t be in Negan’s house eating his food. _You never know, though…_

“Who are you exactly?” I venture. 

“Ah! My bad, girl. I’m Desi,” he extends a hand in my direction. “Don’t worry, Negan knows I’m here. We’re uh…co-workers.” _Ha. More like brothers in arms_. “You can call him if ya want.” 

I decide to do just that. Negan picks up on the second ring and I voice my concerns. Confirming that Desi is harmless, he rushes me off the phone, informing me he had finished his “business” and would be back soon. 

Turning my attention back to Desi, I introduce myself and apologize for my cautiousness. _I must be quite a sight with my bruised face and hacked up bloody shorts_. It doesn’t take long for us to fall into comfortable conversation and I come to the conclusion that Desi likes to talk, _a lot_. His unrelenting mouth is certainly giving Negan a run for his money. 

Desi heads for the living room and I take a seat on the couch while he invades the liquor cabinet tucked in the corner of the room. Turning my way, I see the most devious smirk slashed across his face. 

“What’s ya poison, princess?” he tosses slyly over his shoulder. 

Settling for good old Jack Daniels, I watch as Desi places two tumblers on the coffee table and fills them to the top with the amber liquid. Not caring that I am probably about to get shit-faced, I reach for the glass. 

“Cheers,” I remark with a smirk, clinking our glasses together in a toast. I down my first mouthful of the alcohol, smiling as it burns it’s way down my throat. I desperately need to let loose a little after the night I’d just had. 

By the time my second glass is empty, I am feeling _great_. Desi and I have been swapping various mafia stories, laughing, and generally carrying on when I hear the sound of the front door again followed by a musical whistling. This time I know it’s Negan and I’m suddenly hyper-aware of my intoxicated state. 

Tilting my head backwards, I regard the man standing behind the couch with my upside-down gaze. “Hiiiii,” I slur stupidly, with a lopsided grin. 

Volleying his eyes between me and the depleted bottle of booze set on the coffee table, Negan’s expression is less than pleased. Leveling a look at Desi, I see anger fill his eyes. 

“Is she _drunk_?” he demands. 

“No, she’s Izzie!” 

Desi’s comical retort sends us both into a fit of drunken cackles. If I thought Negan was unamused before, he is downright annoyed now. 

“I asked you to check up on her Desi, not show up and fuckin’ act like a bunch of unruly teenagers together,” he reprimands before stomping out of the room. 

Once Negan is out of earshot, Desi and I make eye contact and, with little delay, burst into laughter again. After cracking up for several minutes, I finally catch my breath. Standing up to pour myself another glass, an idiotic need to take the joke further overcomes me. 

In an over-exaggerated, deep, and goofy voice, I commence a mockery of Negan. “Ooh, I’m _Negan_ and I’m _sooo_ great, look at meee,” I tease, waving my hands and arms wildly in an ostentatious display. “Uh oh, is someone having _fun_? In _my_ house? What impropriety!” My miserably failed attempt at copying Negan’s constant musical whistling is finally my undoing. 

I can’t help the maniacal laughter that races past my lips, but one look at Desi’s stiff face and I snap my mouth shut instantly. Without looking, I can already feel Negan’s presence at my back. He dismisses Desi from the house before turning his attention on me, grabbing my arm to face me in his direction. 

“Guess takin’ a swim in that bottle of Jack has made you _awful_ bold, sweetheart,” he intones. _Guess he didn’t like my impression of him_. 

“Swimmin’ with Jack is way better than swimmin’ with the fishes,” I garble, taking a jab at his lifestyle with the clichéd quote. _Stop making jokes, you lush_. 

“That’s enough, Izzie,” Negan growls. 

“Ayy, calm down there sizzle chest,” I lilt in a sad endeavor of a thick Bronx accent. _That isn’t even funny, you’re just pissing him off_. 

Feeling stubborn, brave, and well-past tipsy, I reach for the bottle to take another swig. Before the bottle reaches my lips, I hear his warning. 

“ _Don’t_.” 

Not wanting him to ruin the fun I’m having, I turn to flee with my precious bottle of liquid gold. In my inebriated state, my feet don’t work in _quite_ the way I want them to, and a rogue limb gets caught on the leg of the coffee table. _I’m starting to fuckin’ hate coffee tables_. Swiftly toppling to the ground, I’m too slow to release my grip on the neck of the bottle. The impact of my spill causes the glass to shatter against the hardwood floor, a large shard digging into the palm of my hand. 

“Goddammit, Isabella!” Negan roars. The use of my full name let’s me know that he is none too happy with me. The sting of pain I feel in my leg distracts me from my oozing palm. Looking down, I see blood beginning to seep through the bandage he’d previously bound my leg with. 

“You probably popped your stitches,” Negan interrupts my thoughts. “That’s what you get for acting like a child. _Again_.” 

Wrapping one arm behind my back and the other in the bend of my knees, Negan easily lifts me, plodding to the kitchen and setting me on the countertop. He disappears for a few minutes, returning with an armful of medical supplies. 

He tends to my palm first, wrapping gauze around the sore skin. Unwrapping the dirtied bandage from my thigh, he determines it won’t need restitching and instead cleans it thoroughly. 

“How many more times am I gonna have to patch you up, Humpty Dumpty?” he asks tiredly. 

Not responding, I lift my leg slightly from the counter, trying to give him room to rewrap the bandage. Instead, he places a hand around my calf and raises my leg onto his shoulder, giving him full access to the circumference of my thigh and forcing me to lay back on the granite surface. He sets to work, tightly swaddling my wound in silence, but my whiskey-soaked brain isn’t ready to give me a break just yet. 

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I imagined my legs being propped on your shoulders,” I slur absent-mindedly. 

Negan is taken aback at my uncharacteristically crass comment and raises his eyebrows with a snort. I giggle in his direction before my heavy-lidded eyes fall shut and I start to slip into an alcohol-induced slumber. The last thing I remember is Negan pressing a warm kiss to my temple as he carries me up the stairs.


	14. A Penny For Your Thoughts, A Dollar For Your Insides

_Kill. Me. Now._

I cannot fathom the amount of pain splitting my poor skull when I open my eyes. I regret every single drop of whiskey that had slipped past my lips last night. The headache on top of the residual pain from my injuries is torturous. Waiting for the urge to vomit to pass, I try to focus on my environment. 

I’m definitely in a bed. A _really_ comfortable bed. From over my shoulder, I hear the sounds of soft snoring. Rolling over slowly so as not to set the room to spinning, I glance at the body occupying the bed with me. _Oh god_ , I groan internally. _Did I sleep with Negan?_ Struggling to recall _anything_ from last night, I have no definitive answer. I assure myself that while I’m sure Negan would’ve loved it if we had slept together, he would never have taken advantage of me in my inebriated state. 

I roll back over and spot a glass of water and two Tylenols placed on the bedside table. Sending a mental thanks in Negan’s direction, I sit up sluggishly to brush my messy crimson hair from my face and greedily swallow the pills. I take a moment to get my bearings before I rise from the bed and begin my search for my shoes. I know Negan wouldn’t want me to leave on my own, but remembering my moment of clarity in his office yesterday, I know I have to leave before things go any further. 

Lumbering down the stairs, I spot my shoes near the front door. I pull them on and grab my phone from the table in the foyer where Negan had left it the night he’d first brought me to his home. _Gross, there’s still blood on it_. Using my half-functioning brain, I manage to call a taxi for myself and I crack open the front door to wait outside in the cool morning air. 

When the taxi arrives, I drag myself across the seat and provide the driver with my address. Partway through the trip, the phone in my hand vibrates as I receive an incoming text. 

**Negan: you didn’t really think you were gonna get away that easily without being punished now did you? bad girl. i’ll see you tonight**

Even though the prospect of having to see Negan after I’d _just_ decided I need to get some distance stresses me out, I can’t help the warmth I feel between my thighs at his message. _Get it together, girl_. 

Arriving home, I quickly grab a bite to eat and swallow a ridiculous amount of coffee to counteract my hangover. Feeling less like a bag of shit, I take the stairs two at a time and jump in the shower. 

Now squeaky clean, I throw on a tank top and yoga shorts and I begin to shove various articles of clothing into a backpack. Opening the safe my father had installed in the bedroom closet, I grab a bundle of cash and toss it in the bag as well. Before I close the safe, the glint of dark steel catches my eye. Sliding the 9mm Ruger out, I weigh the heavy weapon in my hand before deciding to take it, too. _Just in case_. 

Heaving the backpack onto my shoulder, I march downstairs to my father’s office. I drop the bag on the floor and begin to dig through the large wooden desk, searching for some sort of address book. I find what I’m looking for quickly, a small leather-bound book containing all of my father’s contacts. I flip through the pages hastily until I find the name I need. _Derek Francesco_. Locating his phone number, I pick up the phone situated on the corner of the desk and dial. After several rings, a familiar voice picks up. 

“It’s Izzie. I know you said someone is watching me, so I’m calling to let you know that I’m going out of town for a few days. Negan is hovering too closely around me so I need to get some distance, and then I’ll come back to get the money and bring it to you,” I speak rapidly, slamming the receiver back down before he has a chance to argue. _Please let this work_. 

Before long, I hear the roar of an engine followed by a knock on my door. Deep down, I already know who it is, but I’m still hoping that Negan hadn’t _actually_ decided to show up at my house. He _did_ say he would see me tonight, but it is only 3pm. 

Pacing over to the door, I open it to the sight of Negan in a white button-down shirt; the sleeves rolled up and the first few buttons undone, messily tucked into a pair of black slacks. With his sleeves pulled back, I spot several tattoos I hadn’t seen before decorating his tanned forearms. On one arm sits some sort of cross, the other adorned with a vintage pistol as well as the word “Bisou”, inked in beautiful script. _Wonder if that’s a reference to an old girlfriend_ , I ponder, snickering internally at the very thought. If the sight of Negan with his casual attire and tattooed limbs isn’t enough to make my mouth water, the bag of greasy fast food cradled in his arm certainly does the trick. 

Neither of us say a word as I step aside to let him into the house. Leaning down, he surprises me with a quick kiss on the lips before making his way to the kitchen. I’m not far behind, following the sound of his low whistling. 

“Thought you might want a burger after your date with Mr. Daniels last night,” he gruffs. 

Sitting down at the table to tuck into our meal, we remain mostly in silence. I wonder if he’s still angry about last night and I also wonder why he’s really here. I try to think up a way to get him to leave so I can run. _I’ve come full circle, I’m running from the mob again_. I stand up and gather the remnants of the food, disposing of the trash. Planning to make my way to the living room, I try to squeeze past the dining room table, but Negan’s lightning-fast grip on my wrist stops me. 

“Come give Daddy some sugar, babygirl,” he requests throatily, pushing his chair away from the table and yanking me into his lap. Not giving me a chance to protest, Negan threads his strong fingers through my hair, gripping the back of my head tightly, and kisses me passionately. The feeling of his plush lips pressing insistently against my own is intoxicating. When I pull back to catch my breath, resting my forehead against his, I remember that this is the exact opposite of what I am supposed to be doing. 

I try to pry myself from his grip, but the second he feels my body tense, he’s attacking my lips again. This time he’s practically shoving his tongue down my throat and I can’t hold back a small moan. Not wanting to give in, I yank my mouth away with a wet pop and jump up from his lap knowing I need to kick him out before things get any more heated. 

“You should go, Negan,” I pant out. 

“But things were just getting interesting, beautiful,” he argues in a seductive tone. 

“Get _out_ ,” I object. My conflicting emotions of anger, lust, and distress cause my response to carry more venom than Negan will tolerate. The dark look that sweeps over his face indicates that I’ve crossed a line. 

“Darlin’, I know for damn sure I’ve warned you about that attitude,” he observes with an eerily calm tone. He rests his elbows on the knees of his splayed legs, steepling his hands in front of his face as he glares at me. “Do _not_ make me tell you again.” 

His continued ignorance of my request raises my hackles and my control snaps. “ _Fuck you_ , Negan,” I snarl, “I’m sick of listening to you boss me around all the time. I don’t want you here.” 

Hardly believing my _own_ gall, I notice my harsh barb finally goads him into action. Shooting up from his seat, he rushes over, gripping my hips tightly. Negan slams my body into the edge of the countertop. He releases my waist to brace his palms on either side of me on the surface behind me, caging me in. 

Leaning so close that his hot breath caresses my face when he speaks, he angrily demands, “What the _fuck_ has gotten into you, Izzie? What’s with the sudden change of tune, huh?” 

I know I need to think of some way to piss him off further, so I opt to bring up the thing that will sting his ego the most. 

“You’re a _criminal_ ,” I hiss. The emotion in his eyes isn’t exactly hurt, but I know I’m close to hitting a nerve so I continue. “I want nothing to do with someone involved in the disgusting, corrupt lifestyle that killed my mother and ruined my fuckin’ life,” I verbalize with a shaking voice. “You’re no better than your _murderer_ of a father, you’re _nothing_.” 

For the first time since I’ve met him, I’m afraid of Negan. The fire in his eyes is burning bright and his whole body vibrates with barely restrained rage. Moving with viper-like speed, he latches onto my arm and drags me over to the chair he’d just vacated. Returning to the chair, he pulls me into his lap again, this time draped face down over his knees. Using his left arm to pin me down, he swiftly brings his right hand down on my ass. I was expecting the slap, but it still surprises me and I gasp loudly. He repeats the action several more times until I’m whimpering in his lap. 

“Do you have any idea how fuckin’ _infuriating_ you and your goddamn mouth are?” he implores loudly, swatting my ass between every few words. “You’re way outta line with the disrespect today, my dear. And for that…for that you’re gonna pay.” 

Finishing his threat, his fingers wrap around the back of my shorts to pull them down to my knees. I feel the cool air breezing across my sore backside and realize my panties are damp. Interrupting my train of thought, I feel Negan grab my black g-string in his fist and yank until the thin strips of fabric on either side tear and he tosses the destroyed article to the floor. 

He gives my bare ass a number of quick, sharp slaps before he rests his hand on the sore skin and rubs in a soothing gesture. His circling fingers begin to venture closer and closer to my now throbbing core. I tense slightly when I feel his fingertips brush against my smooth, wet lips. 

“Your pussy is fuckin’ _dripping_ ,” he proclaims. “You like being punished, you naughty girl?” 

My only response is a resounding moan as Negan shoves two fingers inside me. I don’t need any time to adjust to his intrusion thanks to the copious amount of fluid leaking from my body. In no time at all, Negan’s fingers begin a punishing pace as he drives them deeply in and out of me. Nearing my climax in an embarrassingly short amount of time, I start to wiggle restlessly in his lap, silently begging for him to pay attention to my neglected clit. The feeling of his erection pressing into my hip only serves to turn me on more. _I’m SO close_. 

“If you keep squirmin’ on my dick like that, I’m gonna blow my load in my goddamn pants, doll,” he warns. 

His cautionary statement does nothing to deter my movements and I only grind my hips more. With a deep, rumbling growl he lifts me from his lap and roughly slams me down on the hard surface of the table. Reaching for the shorts still dangling from my legs, he yanks them the rest of the way off and drops them to the floor. 

Not giving me any time to situate myself more comfortably, Negan pushes my thighs wide, careful to avoid putting pressure on my bandaged wound. He shoves his fingers back into my waiting entrance while simultaneously bending forward to latch his mouth onto my clit. Throwing my head back, I scream in pleasure and cum almost instantly at the intense sensation. 

Through my whole orgasm, Negan never stops his pumping digits or his assault on my bundle of nerves. Sensitive after my climax, my legs begin to shake at the over-stimulation. Whining pathetically, I dig my fingers into his black, slicked-back hair and yank his relentless mouth from my body. 

He grins down at me devilishly; one hand continues stroking my walls while the other reaches down to grope at the sizable bulge in his pants. Noting the look of captivation on my face, Negan moves to unfasten his belt buckle and undo the closure on his slacks. 

Placing his thumb on my clit, he returns to stimulating the swollen nub. I watch intently as Negan lowers his boxers slightly and pulls out his engorged member. Stroking himself lightly, he steps closer between my spread thighs. He reaches out to wrap his hand around the back of my neck, bringing our foreheads together. 

“Go ahead, baby,” he whispers shakily. 

That’s all the permission I need to reach for him. I wrap my slender fingers around his long, girthy dick and stroke from base to tip gently. The instant my thumb makes contact with the swollen head, Negan groans loudly and his fingers move even faster inside my grasping channel. 

I pick up the speed of my stroking as well and Negan’s breathing increases in both speed and volume. The power trip brought on by the idea that I was bringing this formidable man such pleasure is enough to send a fresh wave of moisture to my core. I can hear the wet sounds of my pussy as Negan starts to pound his fingers into me. 

I let out a squeal as I feel myself nearing a second orgasm. Determined not to cum before Negan, I redouble my efforts to get him off. I bring my hand close to my mouth and spit into my palm before wrapping my hand back around his length. The fiery look in his eyes lets me know how much my action has affected him. Negan begins to thrust his hips into my hand at the same time my own hips buck off the table. It’s a fight for dominance as he presses on my clit in frantic circles and I rub my thumb over the weeping slit of his cock. 

“Cum with me,” he commands, and that’s all it takes for me to explode around his fingers with a lusty moan. My sounds set off Negan’s climax as well, and his grip tightens on my neck as he releases several spurts of warm cum onto my thighs. 

Removing his soaked hand from my sex, he pushes against me until I’m laying flush against the table and he’s braced on his elbows above me. We don’t speak, merely stare at each other, breathing heavily. Giving himself several minutes to recover, he straightens and tucks himself back into his pants. 

He bends over to pick up my discarded shorts and ripped underwear from the floor. Using the destroyed panties to clean the cooling cum from my thighs, he hands me my shorts. 

“Get dressed,” he states flatly, before sitting in an empty chair at the table we’d just defiled, “We’re not done talking.” _Are you kidding me?_ I bristle. _How the hell am I supposed to even form words after THAT?_ Hopping off the table, I slide my shorts back onto my worn out body before taking a seat at the table, facing him. He’s the first to initiate the conversation. 

“I don’t know what’s goin’ on with you,” he offers, “But I know that you’ve been actin’ weird since that shit that went down in that factory. If somethin’ is goin’ on, you gotta tell me…talk to me darlin’.” 

“I’m fine, Negan,” I reassure him, hoping he’s convinced. “It’s just stress and shit, that’s all.” 

“See, now I just think you’re lyin’,” he growls. “And I don’t appreciate bein’ lied to sweetheart. Do I have to teach you another lesson already?” 

“Because I _know_ you Izzie,” he continues, “And if you really believe that I am _anything_ like my father, it would mean I’m wrong about the person I thought you were. And I’m _never_ fuckin’ wrong. The shit you said was uncalled for and I wanna know why you’re tryin’ so hard to push me away.” 

I don’t have a response to his spot-on analysis. _I hate how easily he can read me_. “That’s what I thought,” he says self-assuredly. “Now tell me what’s goin’ on, Iz.” 

His soft tone almost breaks me and makes me renege on my plan to get away from this place. Almost makes me want to risk everything just so I don’t have to leave him behind. _Almost_. 

“I promise, it’s nothing. I would tell you if there was something wrong,” I insist. “I’m just a little crazy from everything going on the last few weeks, but I’ll be fine. And I’m sorry for being a bitch.” I smile gently hoping he let’s it go. 

Sighing in resignation, Negan stands up, taking me with him. “I’ll let it go for now ‘cuz I get that shit messed with your head, but you better get your fuckin’ shit together, little girl,” he grunts. “I’d be more than happy to dole out another punishment, but if you step that far outta line again, I’m not gonna be so nice.” 

I want to cry tears of sheer relief when he pecks me on the lips and heads for the door. _I thought he’d never leave_. 

The second I hear his car pull away, I sprint to the office to grab my backpack and throw open the door to the garage. I climb into my car, tossing my bag into the passenger seat, and start the engine. Before I pull out of the garage, I grab my phone to fire off a message to Patrick. 

**> SOS heading to office, need your help**


	15. Show Me Your Weakness

From the moment I pull out of my driveway, I notice the car following me in my rearview mirror. _Okay Paranoid Patty, you’re not the only person allowed to be on the road_. I convince myself it’s a mere coincidence until – after several sharp turns and running a red light – the driver seems determined not to lose sight of me.

 _So much for my plan to get Derek off my ass_. Not wanting my tail to deter me from my plan, I accelerate far beyond the speed limit and race in the direction of Patrick’s building. I knew his law office closed earlier at 3, but I am hoping like hell that he was working late and had seen my plea for help. He is the one person I had come to trust since returning home, and he's my only hope for escape. 

Reaching my destination, I barely wait for my car to be parked before I whip the door open and sprint toward the building. I thank my lucky stars when I find the door is still unlocked, and I burst through it to see Patrick leaning against the reception desk, waiting. Not giving him a chance to question the situation, I get right down to business. 

“I’m being followed by someone,” I rush out, “I need to borrow your car and split before they come in here looking for me.” 

Without hesitation, he digs into his pocket and tosses me his keys, directing me to the employee parking lot located behind the building. “Please be careful, Izzie!” I hear his voice call out from behind me. “Let me know that you get somewhere safe.” 

Locating the white BMW I know belongs to the man inside, I hurl my bag in, jump into the front seat, and send the car hurtling in the direction of the highway. I have no idea where I’m going yet, but so long as I’m heading away from all my mounting troubles, it doesn’t really matter much. 

When my eyes start to cross and grow heavy from exhaustion, I decide it’s time to pull over. I’m not sure exactly how long I’ve been driving, but it’s nearly 10pm and I know I’ve put enough distance between myself and my hometown that it’s safe to stop for the night. I surpass several seedy dumps before coming across a decent quality hotel that I decide will be my shelter for the time being. Directing the car into a parking spot far from the main road, I grab my meager backpack from the backseat and head to the front desk to secure a room for myself. 

Sliding my keycard into the slot, I push the heavy door open and take in the plain room. In one corner is a small desk with an uncomfortable looking chair. A dresser and television sit adjacent to the queen-sized bed pushed against the wall. Other than that, the small room is nothing to marvel at. Placing my backpack on the desk chair, I double-check the lock and swing bolt before stripping down to my underwear and dragging my tired body under the blankets. 

I sleep much later than I meant to, and by the time I climb out of bed, I realize how hungry I am. Donning a change of clothes from my bag, I grab my keycard and venture from the room in search of food. Deciding I don’t want to be cooped up in a hotel room all day, I wander the property surrounding the establishment. I find a small pond nearby and sit in the grass along the bank for several hours, taking some time to clear my head and try to forget all about my problems. 

When darkness falls, I head back to my room and settle in for the night. In the morning, I repeat my routine from the previous day; leaving the room to feed myself and spend some time near the peaceful body of water I’d discovered. 

At some point during my repose, it occurs to me that I failed to let Patrick know that I am okay. It had been nearly two days now since I’d left in a panic, and I know he’s going to be worried. Patting my pockets in search of my phone, I realize I’ve left it behind in the room. I rise from the ground and head back, the sounds of chirping birds and a distant whistled tune surrounding me as I walk. 

Entering my room, I locate my phone quickly on the bedside table. Unplugging it from it’s charger, I begin to scroll through the surplus of missed notifications displayed on the screen. 

**Patrick: Are you safe?**

**Patrick: Izzie please text me back**

****

Negan: on my way over 

****

Patrick - Missed Call 

****

Patrick: It’s been almost 6 hours, need to know you’re okay 

****

Negan: little pig little pig, let me in 

****

Negan: where the hell are you? why aren’t you home? 

****

Negan - Missed Call 

****

Negan - Missed Call

****

I expect most of the messages I’m reading, but as I reach the last few alerts, my stomach drops. 

**Negan: answer your fucking phone**

**Negan: izzie i swear to god**

****

Negan: tell me where you are because if i have to find you myself i promise you won’t like it 

****

Patrick: You gotta give me something, Negan is asking if I know where you are 

****

Patrick: If you don’t want him to find you, you need to leave NOW 

****

Patrick: Dude has one hell of a persuasive right hook 

****

Patrick: I’m sorry

****

Patrick’s series of texts cause my heart rate to escalate rapidly. I hadn’t told him where I am, but the fact that he is warning me and apologizing indicated that somehow Negan had threatened and used Patrick to figure out where I am. It doesn’t take much for me to connect the dots and realize that Patrick had probably revealed to Negan that I used his car to get away, and they had subsequently used the LoJack system on the vehicle to track me down. 

Grasping at my very last sliver of hope, I check the time stamp on Patrick’s last few messages. They had all been sent about 4 hours ago, around the time I had left my room this morning. There is a small chance that I still have time to slip out before Negan gets to me. 

Fast as lightning, I shove my belongings back into my backpack and rush to the door. I jerk the door open and step into the dimly-lit hallway. It’s deserted and eerily quiet as I turn in the direction of the elevator. I make it no more than 5 steps when I hear a familiar sound echo through the hall, a sound that chills me to the bone. _The fucking whistling_. 

I can’t believe that I failed to make the connection when I heard it earlier. _He’s already here, and has been for some time_. I hadn’t seen him so I'm not positive, but the chance that it _isn’t_ Negan heading for me is slim to none. In utter desperation, I whip back around in the direction of my room. Initially thinking that I’d left my keycard in the now locked room, I nearly let out a sob when I reach into my pocket and my fingers hit the thin piece of plastic. 

Ramming the card into the slot, I step inside and close the door as quietly as possible, not wanting to bring attention to myself with any sort of commotion. For a moment I hope that Negan doesn’t know which room I’m checked into, but I know better. It would have taken so little for him to persuade the front desk clerk into giving that little detail to him. 

The only sound I can hear is my labored breathing as I stand in the room with no way out, like a lamb awaiting slaughter. My hands begin to shake when the faint reverberation of Negan’s whistling filters through the air. The noise grows steadily louder as it nears my door, and I cover my mouth with a shaking hand to stop any sounds escaping. Just when I think I can no longer stand the crushing anticipation, the whistling stops. 

There are several seconds of silence, heavy with palpable tension. I dare to lower my hand from my face just as a pounding on the door nearly makes me jump out of my skin. I immediately recognize the 7-note pattern of “Shave And A Haircut” in his knock. The sadistic bastard knows I am on the other side of the door practically shitting my pants, yet he _still_ feels the need to amuse himself by playing games with me. 

“Ohhh, Izzieeee,” he croons in a sing-song voice. The sound of his deep, resonating voice only confirms that he _really_ is here, and it solidifies my fear. I hear several more light taps against the door following his taunt. 

I know how much he hates being ignored, but I can’t bring myself to alert him to my presence. We _both_ know that he knows I’m in the room, and I know my refusal to acknowledge him is only going to make things worse for myself, but I remain silent. 

“Do _not_ make me have to ask,” he warns. The icy tone of his voice spurs me into action as I realize he isn’t messing around. _As if I didn’t already know that_. 

Knowing he would have no issue breaking the door down or doing something as equally destructive, I hesitantly reach out to disengage the locks. My hand rests on the handle for a moment while I take a deep breath and prepare myself for whatever is in store for me. 

When the door opens to reveal Negan – deliciously dressed in his customary expensive suit with his jet black hair slicked back neatly – his eyes are diverted upward, focusing on something unimportant above the doorway. Ever slowly, his cool gaze drifts down and connects with mine. There’s not even a trace of a smile or a bit of amusement on his face, and I watch as the muscle in his jaw ticks due to how hard he’s clenching his teeth. _Oh man, he is SO pissed_. 

Without saying a word, he steps through the entryway and slams the door shut, causing the walls to vibrate with the force. His obvious anger prompts me to take several slow steps backwards. Before I have a chance to get any amount of distance between us, Negan stalks toward me and whips his strong hand out to latch onto my upper arm. 

“You….are in a fuckin’ _world_ of trouble, darlin’,” he barks, his hot breath fanning over my face. I shy away from him a tiny bit, afraid of what exactly I’d gotten myself into. His fingers dig deeper into my arm as he launches into one of his usual monologues. 

“I warned you. I warned you _repeatedly_ not to disrespect me, not to _lie_ to me,” he begins. “And yet, here we are again. First, you lie to me about whatever the fuck is goin’ on with you. Then you go and run your little ass outta town without tellin’ a goddamn soul where the fuck you are; don’t even tell me you’re goin’ anywhere. And as if all of that weren’t enough for you, you _blatantly_ ignore me and make me schlep my ass all the way out here just to fuckin’ find you.” 

During his irate speech, he’d released my arm and turned to face into the small furnished room. The second he turns his back on me, I make one last desperate attempt to remove myself from this man’s clutches. In reality, I know it isn’t Negan I’m running from, but he is in the way of what I have to do and I’d already let him get too close. _I have to do this_. 

Turning on my heel, I sprint for the door. I yank the handle, managing to open the door halfway before the thud of his palm slapping flat against the door stops me. Bracing his hand on the door, he crashes it shut again, stealing away my last chance at freedom. 

“Where exactly do you think you’re going?” he whispers in a deathly quiet voice. “Seems to me you need a little reminder, sweetheart,” he continues. “You. Are. _Mine_.” 

His growled proclamation doesn’t bother me as much as it probably should. In fact, it does the exact opposite, and I subconsciously clench my thighs together at his dominant behavior. It’s then that I accept it’s going to be difficult to get away from him – both physically and mentally. _I’m in too deep_. Grabbing me again, he drags me further into the room and pushes me in the direction of the bed. 

“Take off your clothes,” he demands with a rasp. 

I obey immediately, though move slowly in the hopes of delaying my ultimate downfall. _How does this man make me so weak?_ I remove my shoes and unbutton my jeans to slide them off my body, hands shaking with the arousal coursing through my veins. I barely have my shirt over my head when Negan grows impatient and advances on me. Unhooking my bra, he tears it from my chest and flings it across the room. He grasps my hips and pushes me over to the small desk, kicking the chair out of the way to bend me over the surface. 

Negan wastes no time, leaning over my back to dip his hand into the front of my panties while the other reaches up to wrap around my throat. Taking advantage of my drenched folds, he instantly moves his fingers in rapid circles on my clit. 

“You’re already about to cum, aren’t you?” he taunts. 

All I can do is whimper, as there’s no point in denying how much this man turns me on. I grind my hips backwards against him and I can feel his rock-hard erection rubbing against my ass. In my heightened state of arousal, it takes only a few more minutes of his ministrations for my body to start tensing. 

“C'mon, cream all over my fingers you dirty fuckin’ girl,” he pants in my ear. His words are enough to push me over the edge and my fingers claw at the edge of the desk as my orgasm rocks my entire body. Not bothering to let me come down from my climax, Negan immediately shoves two fingers up into my body. I let out a noise of surprise at his sudden entrance. 

“Let me hear you,” he commands, “let me hear how good I make your tight little pussy feel.” 

The harder he pumps his fingers into me, the louder my moans get. He releases the hand around my throat and reaches down to tug at my hardened nipples. I grunt in pleasure and throw my hips back against him. Nearing another orgasm, I can feel how strong it will be and I start to squirm desperately in Negan’s arms. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers, teasing me intentionally. 

I can’t stop the plea that flies out of my mouth. “No!” I yell in anguish. “Don’t stop, please.” 

Seemingly pleased with my desperation, he returns his attentions to my clit. Using his thumb, he rubs up and down with incredible speed. The intense pleasure is too much for me and I buckle at the knees, doing my very best to get away from Negan’s fast-moving fingers. 

“Where ya goin’, darlin’?” the humor is evident in his voice as the hand that has been grasping my breasts moves down so he can wrap it around my waist and haul me back up against his chest, pulling me to a standing position and trapping me in his hold. This time it takes no urging from him for me to cum and I explode around his fingers with a scream, my back bowing away from his chiseled torso. 

“Good girl,” he praises. I can hear the sound of him releasing his belt buckle and unzipping his pants and a thrill shoots through my body. Yanking at my now soaked panties, I can sense his frustration as he struggles to pull them from my body. 

“Get these fuckin’ shits outta the way,” he laments churlishly. If I wasn’t turned on to the point of near delirium, the idea of Negan wrestling a pair of panties would amuse me. 

From behind me, I hear the sound of his pants dropping to the ground. Pushing his rough thighs against the backs of my smooth ones, I can feel his dick pressing between my ass cheeks. At this point, my whole body is shaking with lust. Negan wraps one arm around my waist as he resumes his exploration of my folds, though his touch is gentler now. 

“Do you want me to show you that you’re mine?” he pants. “Do you want me to take you right here?” Even if I wanted to acquiesce, I can’t form words in my current condition so I whine pitifully instead. Clearly that isn’t good enough for Negan. 

“If you want it, you have to ask for it,” he counters in a rough voice. “ _Ask_ me to fuck you.” 

All I can do is groan loudly in frustration. Negan knows how stubborn I am and how much I don’t want to bend to his will in order to get what I want; it’s why he’s torturing me this way. 

In an attempt to further egg me on into doing what he wants, Negan grasps his dick and angles it between my legs. Not making any effort to enter my body, he merely rocks his hips, rubbing the velvety surface of his length along my dripping folds as he holds tightly to my waist with both hands. He continues the motion until I twist my hips, trying to catch the head of his cock on my entrance, wanting him inside me. My action earns me a sharp slap on my ass. 

“ _Tell me_ ,” he snaps. “Tell me how much you fuckin’ want it. Stop fightin’ yourself, baby. Just give in.” 

_Not gonna happen_. Challenging him, I start to move back and forth, rubbing quicker against the cock squeezed between my thighs. Negan let’s out a long, low groan and I think I’ve got him. 

“You’re not gettin’ a fuckin’ thing until you ask for it, Izzie,” he reassures me, pumping his hips harder to gain more friction. “I got all the time in the world, ‘cuz I know that pussy is worth waitin’ for.” 

Wanting to turn around and punch him square in the mouth, I let out a growl and finally relent. “Negan,” I whine his name, “fuck me, _please_.” 

“ _No_ ,” he snarls, his lips pressed against my ear. “You don’t fuckin’ deserve it after you disobeyed me. You don’t get rewarded for misbehavin’.” 

At my disparaged sob, the speed of Negan’s hips picks up. Before long I feel his rhythm falter slightly and I know he’s close. Wanting nothing more than for him to fuck me, I reach a hand down and grasp his dick, trying to angle it toward my aching core. 

“Don’t even fuckin’ _think_ about it,” he warns before taking my arms in both hands and twisting them behind my back. “I’ll fuck you when I decide you _deserve_ it. That’s not gonna happen until you need it so badly you’re fuckin’ _beggin’_ for it. And believe me you _will_ beg.” 

With a few more pumps of his hips, he releases a throaty growl and shoots his load between my legs. Whimpering at the desire for my own release, I look down to see his semen dripping down the insides of my thighs. 

Negan reaches a hand between my thighs, scooping his own cum onto his fingers before moving to rub it into my soaked folds. He reaches down again, using more of his cum as an unnecessary lubricant on my swollen clit. Knowing he’s going to squeeze one last orgasm from my body, I throw my head back to rest on his shoulder and I pant heavily. 

It doesn’t take long for me to start crying out and canting my hips, prompting him to return his slicked fingers to my clenching channel. With only a few pumps, I let my third orgasm overtake me, feeling Negan’s teeth bite down on the side of my neck. 

“You’re _mine_ ,” he reminds me one last time as my exhausted body relaxes into his arms. 

Negan backs up in the direction of the bed, dragging me with him as he sits on the edge of the mattress. He pulls me into his lap and I lay my head against his chest as we both fight to collect ourselves. Pulling my head back to look into my face, he sweeps my sweat-dampened hair from my forehead. Gone is the fury in his eyes, now replaced with a look of calmness. 

The underlying emotion I’d seen in his eyes after the night I was attacked has returned, but I still don’t let myself think about it. There’s definitely something between us that neither of us is ready to acknowledge. _Totally fine by me, I don’t do emotions_. 

“Go jump in the shower and get cleaned up, I’m takin’ you back with me,” he utters softly.


	16. Communication Breakdown

The car ride back is awkwardly silent. Negan is apparently caught up in his own thoughts as he doesn’t acknowledge me in the slightest. Clearing my throat, I shift in my seat and it seems to bring him from his trance and remind him that I’m in the car. He doesn’t look at me still, but the nearly imperceptible tilt of his head in my direction is enough. Blowing a lengthy sigh out through his nose, he finally speaks.

“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,” he communicates. “Since your only shitty solution so far has been runnin’ away, you’re comin’ to stay with me. It’s the only way I can protect you and make sure you don’t get yourself into more trouble.” 

I don’t even bother putting up a fight. I can’t blame him for being upset with my inability to open up and my choice to run from my issues. Plus - for whatever reason - I feel safe with him. For the time being, staying with him doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. _I still need to get that money to Derek somehow, though_. 

Turning my gaze in Negan’s direction, I study his countenance. The scruff on his face is slightly longer, indicating he hadn’t trimmed it since the night I’d seen him at my house. The grown-out hair barely hides the traces of tension still straining his jaw. Continuing with my appraisal, I reach his hazel eyes. They’re surrounded by deep, dark circles and I wonder when the last time was that he’d slept. _He was probably too busy worrying about your dumb ass_. 

I retreat into my own head for the remainder of the trip, only returning to reality when the car stops outside Negan’s opulent manor. Not waiting for him to open my door, I step out and walk to the front door, gripping the bag over my shoulder tightly. He catches up and unlocks the door, letting me inside. 

“Why don’t you head upstairs,” he suggests, taking my backpack from me, which I’m reluctant to release. “I’ll stash this shit somewhere for ya.” As I veer in the direction of the staircase, he speaks further. 

“Go straight to my room. Do not pass go, do not collect $200, do not even _think_ about tryin’ any funny business,” he contends. “I’ll be up in a second.” His voice holds no anger, but I can tell from the tone of his words that he is by no means kidding; much as his joke may have implied. 

Reaching Negan’s room, I decide I want more comfortable clothes to sleep in so I start opening various dresser drawers; searching for something of his that might fit my smaller frame. _Jackpot_. I locate a large gray t-shirt as well as a pair of plain black boxers, resolving that they will do for now. I quickly change into the baggy garments and sit down on the massive, plush mattress. _I forgot how comfortable his bed is_. Not hearing his approach, Negan’s entrance and subsequent statement startle me from my appreciation of his bed. 

“Made yourself right at home, huh,” he nods in the direction of his borrowed clothes with a small smile. “Looks good on you.” 

Shrugging sheepishly at his assessment and compliment, I slide under the blankets and make myself comfortable in the spacious bed. I watch as Negan strips out of a disheveled dress shirt and removes his black slacks, leaving him in a pair of boxers similar to the ones I’d found. Much to my delighted surprise, his newly revealed skin boasts several more tattoos on his muscled biceps and chest. My latest discovery has me practically salivating. _Good lord, he looks even better OUT of a suit than he does IN one_. He climbs into the bed next to me, threading a sinewy arm around my midsection to pull my back tightly to his chest. Desperately wanting to distract myself from his extreme nearness and amorous gesture, I pick the first topic of conversation that pops into my head and run with it. 

“How did you know to go to Patrick to find me?” I ponder. The perturbed huff Negan releases against the back of my neck lets me know that he isn’t pleased with my chosen topic. 

“Go to sleep, Izzie. We can talk about it tomorrow,” he offers. He tightens his hold around me before he speaks again. “And then maybe you can explain to me why this mystery predicament you _refuse_ to let me in on has you carryin’ around a fuckin’ gun.” _Shit. He looked in my bag_. The tone of his voice is deceptively calm and jovial, however I know there’s no way he isn’t irate about this little discovery. _How much deeper of a hole can I dig myself into?_

I don’t move and I don’t speak, I only wait. For what feels like hours, I wait for Negan to fall asleep. Remembering the tiredness in his eyes and the ragged appearance of his face, I know that once he slips into unconsciousness, he’ll sleep like the goddamn dead. Negan once mentioned that he's a heavy sleeper on a good day, so I know his exhaustion will buy me some time. _I can make it home, grab the money and deliver it, and be back with him none the wiser_. 

I know I’m taking a serious risk of further pissing him off, but the moment Negan lifts his heavy arm from my body to roll over, I shoot up from the bed. I don’t waste my time changing back into my own clothes, merely slide my feet into my Converse sneakers and head for the stairs. 

Time is of the essence, so I move quickly to unlock the front door and pull it open. My illusion of freedom is shattered instantly at the shrill screeching of a security alarm being set off. _And so the hole grows deeper_. For a solid 10 seconds, my feet are frozen in place. It had taken a moment for me to wrap my head around what is happening, seeing as the first time I’d snuck out of this house the security system hadn’t been armed. The sound of Negan’s voice yelling my name – my _full_ name, no less – is incentive enough to prod me into motion. 

Flinging myself down the stone stairs of his front porch, I make a beeline across the dewy grass of the front lawn. I make it a mere 20 feet when I turn over my shoulder to see Negan – now dressed only in black sweatpants slung low on his hips and tucked into a pair of combat boots – making his way onto the porch I’d just vacated. 

_Run, you fucking idiot_. I whip around and will my legs to carry me as fast as they possibly can across the expansive yard. Behind me, I hear Negan’s thudding steps as he runs down the stairs and takes off in hot pursuit. Much as I want to remain on the flat terrain of the yard, I know staying out in the open isn’t going to do me any favors, so I turn and dart in the direction of the distant woods surrounding the property. I make one serious miscalculation though – Negan’s legs are much longer than my own, thus making him significantly faster. 

I hear his pounding footfalls as he gains on me. _Shit. Shit. Shit_. With the safety of the forest mere feet away, I’m tackled to the ground and the weight on my back forces the air from my lungs in a rush. I let out a frustrated scream as I use all my strength to roll Negan off of me. He’s ridiculously heavy and the only thing I manage to accomplish is rolling myself onto my back when he lifts his body a few inches from my own. 

Daring to look up into his face, I see an expression of wrath like nothing I’d ever seen from him before. _I’m so dead_. I’d spent almost every moment with Negan pushing his buttons and pissing him off, but this certainly takes the cake. 

Not wanting to stick around for my inevitable doom, my fight or flight instinct kicks in. Seeing as the hands braced on either side of my head and the heavy weight pinning my body to the cool ground are not letting me up any time soon, my only option is to fight. I do so by pulling my fist back as far as is allowed in my trapped position, and putting what little force I can manage into cold-cocking Negan right in his beautifully chiseled jaw. 

If looks could kill, I would have an all-expenses-paid, one-way ticket to the morgue. Time seems to freeze and I watch as – by some form of sorcery – Negan’s face grows even angrier; he’s positively _livid_. _Why the fuck did I just do that?_

“I’m about 50% more into you now,” he declares, grinding his hips into me. _What the fuck_. 

Moving unexpectedly fast, Negan grabs my arms and hauls me violently to my feet. “You just don’t fuckin’ _listen_ , do you?” he questions. Still hyped up on adrenaline, my traitorous brain implores me to reach a hand out and slap Negan. _Sure, keep hitting the guy who can snap your neck with one hand_. 

A small moment of shock registers on his face before he speaks. “First one’s free, I get it, it’s an emotional moment.” Interrupting his statement, I reach my arm out to slap him a second time. Catching my wrist mid-air, he warns, “Keep actin’ tough, go ahead. See how you do.” Suddenly, he bends at the waist to sweep me off my feet and lift me over his shoulder. In a panic, I begin to squirm wildly, but the only response I receive to my protest is a swift slap on the ass. 

When we reach the house, Negan places me on my feet just inside the foyer and turns to close the front door behind us. In a second, he has my front pinned against the closed door, my hands braced on the wooden surface. 

“What’s it gonna take for me to get through to you, huh?” he demands, growling with heated breath against my ear. “How am I gonna make you fuckin’ understand that you’re mine, and you can’t keep fuckin’ runnin’ from me? Where the fuck were you even goin’, little girl?" 

I want to explain to him that I hadn’t been running from him; not _this_ time at least, but I know we’re beyond the point of explanation. Realizing that if I had just asked him to take me home, this all could have gone so much smoother. _Too late for that now_. 

Taking advantage of my inability to move, I feel Negan step closer to my pinned body and I know where this is heading. Gripping my hair in his fist to angle my head back, he bites down on my neck before addressing me. 

“Maybe I should just _make_ you mine,” he proposes, grinding the hardening bulge in his sweats against me. “Would you like that?” 

Unable to help myself or my body’s wanton reaction to him, I nod enthusiastically. That’s not good enough for Negan though, and he grabs my jaw harshly, using his grip to spin me around and slam my back against the door. 

“Speak when you’re spoken to!” he yells. 

“Y-yes!” I stutter out loudly. 

He seems pleased with my response and steps forward to lock my lips in a passionate kiss. The kiss is heated and our teeth click together sharply as I open my mouth to allow him entrance. As our tongues swirl together wetly, I realize he’s backing me up in the direction of the living room. 

I reach one hand to grip the back of his neck while the other trails down to the waistband of his pants and pushes past to reach inside his boxers. I manage to wrap my hand around his erection for only a second before he pushes me away harshly and bends me over the back of the couch. 

“No, no, _no_ , darlin’,” he says, interrupting my action with a harsh smack across each side of my ass. Not wanting him to stop, I brace my elbows on the back of the sturdy couch and wiggle my hips invitingly. 

“You’re a fuckin’ depraved little thing, aren’t you?” Negan prompts, before gripping the sides of his borrowed boxers that I’m still wearing, pulling them down along with my panties. He crouches down and yanks my sneakers and socks off my feet before lifting each leg to divest me of my clothes. 

Standing back up, he presses his still-clothed hips against mine as he reaches both hands under my over-sized t-shirt to squeeze around my sensitive breasts before removing my shirt as well. Overcome with how turned on I am, I moan loudly and grind my hips back against him as he latches his lips onto my neck and sucks harshly, marking me in several places. 

“Remember what I told you, baby,” he coos in my ear. “I won’t fuck you until you beg. So fuckin’ _beg_.” 

He finishes the demand with an aggressive growl that causes my arousal to drip onto my inner thighs. I’m so desperate for Negan that I have absolutely no qualms about stooping to the level of a beggar to get what I want from him. 

“Please, Negan,” I mewl. “I need you inside me, _please_ fuck me.” By the end of my request, my entire body is shaking and I’m practically crying with need. 

Running his fingers through my folds from behind, Negan pumps his fingers into me several times to make sure I’m ready for him. I hear two thumps as he kicks off his boots, followed by the soft sound of him removing his sweatpants and underwear. 

“Hold on tight, babygirl,” he instructs as he uses his foot to kick my legs wider. The feeling of the head of his dick prodding my entrance sets me to begging for him again, a litany of jumbled nonsense spills forth from my mouth. 

“Shut that pretty mouth,” he orders. “You’ll get whatever I decide to give you.” 

His inaction is _killing_ me and I completely ignore his utterance to be quiet and let out a cacophony of desperate moans. Much to my extreme relief, Negan rocks his hips forward, _finally_ penetrating my dripping entrance. He inches his way in painfully slow until he’s fully sheathed inside my body, releasing a carnal groan when he presses his hips tightly against mine. The feeling is _heavenly_. 

“If I’d known the easiest way to shut you up was to stuff you full of cock, I woulda done it a hell of a lot sooner,” he quips with a strained voice. 

I throw an elbow back at his snide comment, catching him right under the ribs. Not appreciating my act of violence, he gives several sharp, punishing thrusts that cause me to yelp in surprise. 

Encouraged by my vocalizations, Negan starts to pump his hips in a steady rhythm. The feeling of his thick cock rubbing against my walls has me climbing to my peak in no time. Feeling my body start to squeeze around him, he reaches down to thumb my clit. The added stimulation sends my body into what I expect will be the first of many orgasms. 

When I come down from my high, Negan steps back, prompting me to whine in protest at the sudden emptiness I feel. Not leaving me hanging for long, he lifts me at the waist and carries me to the other side of the couch. He sits down, bringing me with him and immediately impaling me on his stiff length. The changed angle of his penetration causes me to cry out and I hear his chest rumble with a groan of his own. I take a moment to appreciate the feeling of his cock just throbbing inside my tight channel. 

Leaning my back against Negan’s chest, I brace my feet on the hardwood floor and start to rotate my hips, desperate for friction. Aside from the hand squeezed between my thighs to rub my clit roughly, he let’s me do all the work to get myself off. 

“Fuckin’ ride my dick,” he bids, his voice giving away that he is just as affected as I am by the feeling of him deep inside me. 

I redouble my efforts, bouncing harder and faster in his lap, racing toward my climax. Negan’s circling fingers press harder against my clit and he begins to lay warm, wet kisses along my neck and shoulder. With a whispered command to cum, I do exactly that. My hips rock uncontrollably against him as I ride out my orgasm. 

After two intense orgasms, my body can’t take much more, and I move to climb off Negan’s lap with every intention of finishing him with my mouth. Before I can lift myself from his dick, he wraps both arms around my stomach, holding me tightly against his chest. 

“Not so fast,” he expresses and I can hear the deviousness in his tone. “I’m not done with you yet.” He spreads his knees outward and since my legs are draped over his, I have no choice but to be splayed open widely. He immediately brings his fingers to my over-sensitive clit and I move to snap my legs shut, but he slaps each thigh before digging his fingers into them and using his grip to hold me in place. 

“Keep those delicious thighs spread for me, doll,” he requests with a shallow thrust. “God, I can’t get enough of this pussy, so wet and tight.” 

His vulgar words send a wave of arousal through my already high-strung body and I can feel my thighs start to shake. Using his braced feet as leverage, Negan begins to thrust his hips up sharply, driving his thick cock into my body at a rapid pace. His fingers are rubbing my clit at an unbearable speed and I’m on the verge of hyperventilating at the level of pleasure he’s administering. 

Unable to handle the feelings raging through my body, I make one last attempt to squirm away, but Negan’s constricting arms are far too strong. He continues his assault on my body and with a strangled scream, I cum for a third time. 

“That’s it, cum all over my cock,” he praises, his voice thick with lust. I can tell from his strained voice and the tension wracking his body that he’s close to finding his own release. 

Before I have time to consider it any longer, Negan is lifting me from his lap and tossing me onto my back on the cold surface of the coffee table. Something in the atmosphere has changed and his actions are growing increasingly aggressive. 

Bringing my body to the edge of the table, he braces one knee on the surface and lifts my hips towards his to slide his dick in to the hilt. Not giving me a chance to recover, he starts to thrust his hips at a punishing pace. My arousal is coating both his thighs and mine at this point, letting him pound into my body with ease. 

Negan grabs one of my legs and props it high on his shoulder, spreading me wider. Closing in on my orgasm, my eyes start to roll back into my head. 

“Look at me!” I hear him bark as he reaches down to grasp my jaw tightly in his strong hand. 

Meeting his gaze, the rapturous look on his face causes me to gasp. He digs his fingers into my jaw as his own clenches with the effort he’s putting into holding himself back. 

“You’re fuckin’ _mine_ ,” he rumbles. “You fuckin’ _belong_ to me, _right_?” 

I merely nod my head at first which prompts Negan to slam his hips even harder, the head of his dick rubbing me in all the right places. I reach my hands around his back and drag my nails across the skin. 

“ _Right?!_ ” he demands, squeezing my jaw with bruising force as his cock wreaks absolute havoc on my body. I reciprocate verbally this time, and Negan responds by landing a messy, wet kiss on my lips. 

“Open your mouth,” he commands. I part my lips slightly and he uses his thumb to pry my lower jaw open and spit directly into my mouth in an assertion of dominance. “Good girl.” 

His action and following praise pushes me nearly to the edge and I moan loudly. Deciding to drag Negan over the edge with me, I use my raw vocal cords to speak up. 

“Please make me cum, Negan,” I submit, “I’m _yours_.” 

The primal expression that manifests on his face takes my breath away. Using my hands to grip the edges of the table, I brace myself at his renewed pace. The animalistic way he pounds into my body rattles my bones. 

“Gonna fuckin’ _own_ you,” his strained words are barely coherent as he loses control. “Gonna fuckin’ ruin that pussy, fill you up with my cum.” 

His words launch me over the edge and I unleash an unfathomable howl of pleasure as my body clenches down on his cock with unimaginable strength. The tightening of my walls prompts Negan to reach his own fierce climax. With one hand braced on my hip and the other wrapped around my throat, he buries his forehead against my shoulder and bites down harshly on my collarbone as he cums with a deep, shaking moan. 

I feel the hot streams of his cum shooting deep into my body and filling me, and it causes a shiver to ripple through all of my limbs. Too weak to hold himself up in any way, Negan slides away from the desecrated coffee table, slipping his softening member out of my pussy and dragging me with him until we’re both sprawled across the wooden planks of the floor. 

“Ho-lee _fuck_ ,” he chokes out, his voice barely more than a whisper. 

I can hardly find the strength to breathe, let alone speak, so I lay there in a sweaty, shaking puddle letting my eyes shut in exhaustion. After several moments I hear a shuffling noise and open my eyes to find Negan braced on one elbow, hovering over me with a crooked smirk on his face. Leaning down, he presses a gentle kiss to my sticky forehead. 

He backs away and directs his gaze lower to sight of his cum leaking from my well-used pussy. I see the fire reignite in his eyes and I pray to any God out there willing to listen that his savage dick will come nowhere near me because if I have another orgasm, I am going to _die_. 

“I hope you’re on birth control,” he quips, though I can hear the seriousness in his tone. 

“Hell of a time to ask,” I say, leaving him hanging for a moment longer. “I had my tubes tied years ago, we’re fine.” I hear him let out a pained groan and shoot a questioning look in his direction. 

“Don’t tell me that,” he grouses. “I’m gonna have a perpetual hard-on if I know I can cum in that sweet pussy any time I want.” 

I let out a loud laugh at his childish tone and ridiculous complaint. Negan rolls to his feet to slip his sweatpants back over his hips. _And over his fine ass_. Mumbling over his shoulder that he’ll be right back, he heads in the direction of the kitchen. He returns a few minutes later carrying a damp hand towel and a chilled water bottle. 

“Figured you might need this,” he offers. “Probably dehydrated after all those awesome orgasms.” I roll my eyes dramatically at his cocksure attitude. _At least his bark is JUST as bad as his bite_. He hands me the water bottle and uses the damp cloth to clean between my legs. 

Tossing the soiled cloth onto the coffee table, he stands to go in search of the t-shirt I’d stolen from him. He hands me the t-shirt along with my discarded panties, letting me slide them over my dog-tired body before he gathers me into his arms and lifts me from the floor to carry me up the stairs. 

When we reach his bed, he lays me gently on the rumpled sheets before climbing in next to me and pulling me securely into his arms, our chests pressed firmly together. I look up at his face and my eyes are drawn to his slightly swollen lip where I’d punched him. I reach a hand up to brush a finger over his injury, but he wraps his fingers around my wrist to pull my arm away. Laying soft kisses all over my face with his plush lips, he brushes his nose along my jaw before whispering in my ear. 

“You’re mine.” 

The declaration holds no anger or dominance this time, but rather warmth and the hint of a promise. I burrow my face into the warm planes of his chest, inhaling his masculine scent as I wind my arms tightly around his waist. 

_I’m yours_.


	17. The Good, The Bad, And The Dirty

Dragging myself from the disorienting haze of sleep, I attempt to roll over and find myself trapped. My strong, warm prison reminds me that I’d fallen asleep in Negan’s arms last night. He’s still sleeping, but my slight movements cause him to roll over onto his back.

I use my freedom as an opportunity to turn around and study the sleeping form of the man next to me. Surveying the rough edges of his handsome face, I begin to ponder how I ended up in this bed next to him. I had been home for less than a month and in that time, Negan had managed to suck me in and drag me down; both into his life and back into the world of a major crime syndicate. 

I chuckle quietly to myself at the bizarre path my life is heading down. I reach out to brush a stray piece of hair away from Negan’s forehead. His normally slicked back and perfect locks had been disheveled in his sleep and the unfamiliar look of disarray certainly softened and humanized the mysterious, brash man. 

Negan came into my life like an unwelcome, out of control tornado. He’d forced his way in and flipped my world upside down. I barely recognized my own life at this point, I was just along for the ride; holding on tightly and waiting for the dust to settle. Somehow Negan’s attitude, crude ways, and unpredictability awoke something liberating within me. He was a breath of fresh air from the mundane, stagnant daily routine I adopted since I ran away from home. I’d come to live a very safe life and Negan is proving to be a danger I can’t seem to resist. 

Not wanting to dwell on my thoughts – or acknowledge how disgustingly soft my cold exterior is becoming – I remind myself that I’d wanted to talk to Negan; plus, the sooner he wakes up, the sooner I can figure out how the hell I am going to handle Derek before he comes to whack me for taking so damn long to get him his money. 

With a sly smile, I slide further under the heavy comforter as I decide just how to wake Negan up. Gingerly fitting my slender form between his thighs, I reach up to shimmy the waistband of his sweatpants down his hips. I run my fingertips lightly along his softened length, not wanting to wake him just yet. Stroking his skin, I notice several long scars scattered along his abdomen, placing light kisses on each one. 

As the blood flow to his member increases, he shifts restlessly in his sleep. Before he has a chance to fully awaken, I wrap my hand around his dick and lift it away from where it rests against his lower abdomen. Dragging my tongue lightly along the underside, I begin to pump my hand up and down gently. Just as I’m about to wrap my lips around the head, I hear Negan’s sharp moan and the blankets are whipped from over my head and I let out a sound of surprise. 

“Ya okay down there, doll?” he asks sarcastically. 

Not bothering to answer, I smirk at him and move my head closer to take his hardening cock into my warm mouth. The action triggers another deep moan from Negan and he shuts his eyes and throws his head back against the pillows. Encouraged by his lusty response, I start to bob my head up and down, sucking gently as I move. Before long, my ministrations have Negan panting and writhing above me. The look of vulnerability and submission on his face provokes my own arousal and I moan softly. 

Hearing my reaction, Negan’s thighs tense as he leans forward to grip his hands under my arms and yank me toward him. He tosses me onto my side and presses himself firmly against my backside, growling playfully in my ear. When his fingers slip into the front of my panties to trace my folds, I jump at the contact; my body still tender from last night’s activities. 

“Are you sore?” he asks, concern lacing his husky voice. I nod in confirmation. “Tell me to stop.” 

The whispered voice tickling my ear causes a shiver to run through my body and I find it hard to care about my slight discomfort anymore. 

“Never,” I retort impishly, denying his request. 

With a sound somewhere between a moan and a chuckle, Negan buries his face into my neck while he pulls my panties to the side to slowly enter me. We let out simultaneous groans at the sensation of him filling me. He rocks his hips gently, allowing my sensitive walls to adjust to his size. 

“Don’t make a sound,” he challenges. 

Increasing the speed of his strokes, Negan thrusts into me at a restrained pace – or at least a pace that one would consider restrained for him. It doesn’t take long for me to start rolling my hips back against him. Within a few minutes, we’re both breathing heavily as we reach our climax together. Not withdrawing his softening dick from me, Negan holds me against his sweat-sheened body for several moments. 

“That was a productive damn morning!” he announces with enthusiasm before laying a wet kiss on my cheek and rolling off the bed in the direction of the bathroom. The feeling of his release seeping from my body into my still damp panties causes me to squirm. 

When he returns, I’m leaning against the headboard with his silk sheets wrapped around my body. His rumpled appearance and extreme bedhead are downright _adorable_. Putting on my most innocent face and adopting a placating tone, I decide not to pussyfoot around what I want. 

“Negan,” I begin softly, “can I go home today? There’s some stuff I need to take care of, it’ll only take a few–.” 

“No,” he interrupts, his tone already annoyed. He crosses his arms across his bare chest as he regards me from the spot he stands a few feet from the bed. “No. These past few days you haven’t listened to a single goddamn thing I’ve said; you disregarded what _little_ I asked you to do. You also haven’t been honest with me. There’s no trust between us right now, and until you prove to me that you _can_ be trusted, I’m asking that you stay here where I know that you’re safe.” 

Hanging my head in defeat and shame, I accept the answer I’d pretty much been expecting. In all honesty, I can’t really blame him. Negan has no reason to trust me, especially considering that I am _still_ betraying his non-existent trust even now. 

“I have some important business of my own to handle today, so you’ll be staying here while I’m gone. I’ll be arming the security system when I go, so don’t even think about doing anything dumb today, Izzie. Please.” 

Trying not to roll my eyes at his constant vague claims of “important business”, I nod in agreement. _I hope he doesn’t think I’m too dumb to figure out he’s probably doing something illegal_. Negan steps to the edge of the bed to kiss my forehead before gathering his customary attire and heading to the bathroom to take a shower; not before attempting to lure me in with him, of course. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

After several hours of watching mindless tv in the living room, I hear the front door open and the security alarm being disarmed. I perk up, excited for Negan’s return, knowing it means I will no longer be bored out of my mind. Much to my delighted surprise, from around the corner strolls Desi. I jump to my feet to greet him, not hiding my excitement in the least. 

“Oh man, mean ol’ Neegs must be keeping you prisoner here if you’re this excited to see my sorry ass, babes,” he ridicules. 

“You have no idea,” I play along, speaking in a woeful tone. “The Warden hasn’t let me see the light of day in weeks!” Laughing loudly at my joke, Desi gathers me into a tight hug. I didn’t know Desi well, but we had hit it off right away and I missed his goofy personality and amiable company a lot. 

Desi joins me on the couch and we spend a while talking. Suddenly, an idea strikes me and I look at Desi like he’s the second coming of Christ. Before he has a chance to voice his concerns at my enthralled stare, I speak. 

“What business was Negan handling today? How long will he be gone?” I implore. Desi looks at me skeptically as if to say he didn’t know, but I’m not buying it. 

“Come _on_ , Des,” I nag. “I’m not dumb. I know you guys work together. You’re one of his cronies or something, right?” 

“I’m his consigliere,” he supplies. I’m surprised by his candor, but I appreciate the fact that he’s willing to share that information so openly with me. 

“Does he trust you?” I question. 

“I’m his right-hand man, it’s kind of a job requirement, babes,” he snarks. “What’s up, where ya going with this?” 

“If he trusts you, then he’d let you escort me home, right?” I ask, excitedly. _This could totally work_. 

“Kid, I’m not bustin’ you outta this joint and getting my ass handed to me on a silver platter by His Royal Highness,” he retaliates. 

“Please, Desi,” I beg, “I’ll call him and ask, you don’t even have to do anything. _Please_.” When he throws his head back and unleashes an obnoxiously dramatic groan, I know I’ve convinced him. I hop to my feet and sprint upstairs to find my phone and call Negan. Dialing the phone, I fidget as I wait for him to pick up. _Please say yes, please say yes…_

“ _Hello?_ ” he gruffs. 

“Hi babe,” I reply sweetly. _Reign it in…too much_. “I had a little tiny favor to ask.” I hear his sigh carry through the line before he responds. 

“ _What is it, Iz?_ ” he asks in a false annoyed tone. 

“Um, Desi is here and I was wondering if he could take me home since you know him and you trust him,” I rush through my request before he has a chance to interrupt. 

“ _Izzie, what part of me telling you to stay put was difficult for you to understand?_ ” he ponders, his voice taking on a sharp tone. 

“I’m not gonna go anywhere, Negan. I just need to get some stuff from home and take care of a couple small things, that’s it.” Deciding to sweeten the deal, I throw in a bit of bribery. “I’ll have him bring me right back, I wanna spend the night with you again,” I say in a husky tone. Wanting to push it even _further_ , I appeal to his possessive and dirty side, knowing I’m playing with fire. “Please, _Daddy_.” 

I’m met with several seconds of uncomfortable silence before a raspy chuckle filters through the phone followed by a groaning sigh. 

“ _You are_ killing _me, woman_ ,” he growls. “ _Fine. Go. But your sweet ass better be there when I get back home because I am going to fuck you senseless until “Daddy” is the only word you can remember_.“ 

His delicious threat distracts me for a moment, but my excitement brings me back down to earth. Thanking Negan quickly after listening to him complain about having to go jerk off now, I hang up the phone and skip down the stairs to tell Desi the good news.


	18. Take Heed Of Stormy Weather

After what feels like the longest, most anxiety-riddled car ride of my life, I’m finally back home. My eager energy has less to do with excitement and more to do with anticipation and nerves. With my bag back in hand, I open the door to the house I never thought I’d ever be excited to see again.

Calling over my shoulder, I instruct Desi to head around back and meet me in the yard as I throw my bag into the entryway. I figure in order to make this work, Desi is gonna have to be let in on some information; may as well give him the hard work of digging up the hidden cash. 

I step out the back door and head in the direction of the shed just as Desi rounds the corner. Grabbing the dirt-crusted shovel, I turn to hand it to him with a smile on my face.  

“We diggin’ for buried treasure, babes?” he asks, sarcasm evident in his voice. 

“Yeah, something like that,” I answer honestly. 

After a few minutes, I hear the dull thud of the shovel meeting the buried duffle bag of money. Giving Desi a sheepish look and a nod, I wait for him to clear away the dirt and yank the bag out of the shallow hole. _Buried treasure, indeed_. Desi shakes the loose soil from the black canvas bag before handing it to me with a questioning look. I tell him I’ll explain it all and make my way back inside. 

Inviting Desi in to make himself at home, I head upstairs to change into fresh clothes. All the while, my mind is reeling with schemes and ideas to execute my plan. It haa been a long time coming and I can _not_ wait to get this burden off my shoulders. Aside from the fact that I want to get rid of Derek and the looming threat of the Chicago mob outfit, the thought that I’d no longer have to lie to or run from Negan once this is finished is pretty good motivation too. 

Ready to set things in motion, I yell down the stairs and ask Desi to bring the excavated bag up and meet me in the master bedroom. When he reaches the bedroom, I tell him to empty the bag out onto the floor. The second I hear the sound of the zipper opening, Desi starts questioning me. 

“Jesus Christ, you rob a bank or somethin’, Izzie?” he inquires with shock. “Why the hell was there a mountain of moolah buried out there?” 

“It’s a _really_ long story, dude,” I lament. “I don’t even know where to start, but I know how I need to finish it, so I need you to trust me. Please. I swear I’m not in trouble.” 

He stares at me for a long moment before sighing and agreeing to help once I assure him that I’m not in any danger. _At least I’m getting better at lying_. 

I grab an identical black duffle bag from the closet and transfer the money into the clean bag. Taking the filthy and now empty bag, I start collecting random items to fill it up. I grab some of my father’s old shoes, several of the creepy porcelain dolls my mother used to collect, and some pairs of thick socks. I load the bag up until it’s roughly the same weight as the bag of money. Now Desi’s curiosity is well and truly piqued so I decide to let him in on the plan. 

"This is a decoy bag,” I explain. “I have to deliver some cash to someone and I need to ensure that they don’t back out of our deal and take off with the money. Once I know they’re good for it, I’ll give them their cash.” That part of my plan is _actually_ the truth. I don’t trust Derek as far as I can throw him and I'm not going to give him a single cent until I know for sure he isn’t going to stab me in the back. 

I hadn’t wanted to give up my chance at a new start, but I’m also not going to risk my life for a few thousand dollars. He can have it, I will find another way to start over. Plus, I get the feeling I won’t be leaving this town or Negan for the time-being anyway, so this is my best course of action. 

“Well shit, you’re back in town for a couple weeks and you’re already picking up where your old man left off,” Desi jokes. 

“No. That’s not what this is,” I snap. “This is just a lose end I have to tie up, Desi. I’m out after this. I don’t want anything to do with the mob.” 

“What about Negan? You’re with him, aren’t ya? That guy _is_ the mob, kid,” he retorts. _He’s kind of got a point there_. 

“That’s different,” I counter. “ _If_ I end up with him, I can keep that separate. I just don’t want to be directly involved.” 

Desi doesn’t respond, merely looks at me skeptically. I can tell from the look on his face that he knows I’m just trying to convince myself. Being with Negan means being with the mob; there is no separation. _A bridge we’ll cross when we get to it, I suppose_. 

Changing the subject, I close the zippers on the two duffles and ask Desi to bring them to his car. When he leaves, I jog downstairs to grab my Ruger from the backpack I’d left by the door. I reach in and can’t locate it, so I flip the bag over and shake the contents onto the floor. No gun, it’s gone. _That motherfucker_ … 

I scoff loudly into the empty house. Negan had taken the weapon from my bag when he’d come across it last night at his house. _Joke’s on you pal, my dad was a fuckin’ mobster_ , I muse as I head to the garage to find one of the _many_ handguns my father had stashed around the house. Locating a Beretta M9, I check that it’s fully loaded before I tuck it into the waistband of my jeans and pull the back of my black t-shirt over it, hiding the weapon as best I can. 

Running out to the driveway, I approach Desi next to his car. Holding my hand out for the keys, I inform him that I have to go alone as involving him would turn a non-problematic situation into a dangerous one for both of us. Darkness is falling and my perfect window of opportunity is _now_. 

“You realize that if Negan finds out about this or anything happens to you at all, he’ll cut my balls off and watch with glee as I bleed to death, right?” he complains. 

Deciding to compromise a little, I pull out my phone and send Derek’s address to Desi’s phone, instructing him to go there if I’m not back within 2 hours. I make him promise not to say a single word to Negan. With one last reassurance that I am in no danger and will be back in no time, I climb into Desi’s car and head in the direction of Derek’s house. 

For the duration of the car ride, all I can think about is how glad I’ll be once this is over. I’d come to realize that I didn’t need the money. If I ended up with Negan, he would take care of me, even if that meant being _far_ closer to my old life than I am truly comfortable with. On the other hand, if we didn’t keep up whatever we have going on now, I could always fly back home and continue with the life I’d left behind. With Derek out of the picture, everything will be fine. 

Realizing I’m getting close to my destination, I draw myself out of my thoughts. Not wanting to alert Derek to my arrival, I park about a block away. I grab my grimy decoy bag from the backseat and sling it over my shoulder before slinking down the street into the darkness. When I reach the house I know belongs to Derek, I heave myself over the surrounding wrought iron gate and land with a soft thump in the grass of his back yard. 

I sneak over to the back door and try the handle. _Locked, of course_. Thankful for my hindsight, I pull my old keychain of lockpicks from my back pocket. With skills still sharp even after a decade, I pop the door open in less than 30 seconds and creep inside. 

From another room in the house, I can hear the distant hum of voices on a tv so I know Derek is home at least. I could’ve just knocked on his door, but I want the element of surprise so _I’m_  the one with the upper hand for this meeting. Distracted by my thoughts, I don’t pay attention to my surroundings and my foot gets caught on the edge of a small table situated to my left. _Not as good as I used to be at breaking and entering without making a sound, huh_. I manage to stop myself before I face plant, but I worry the loud thunk from my booted foot has alerted Derek to my presence. I hold my breath for as long as I can, praying I won’t be discovered. 

After nearly a minute, I release a relieved whoosh of air. In a crouched pose, I stealthily sneak my way down the hallway in the direction of the droning sounds of the television. Before I can round the corner, the sound of a voice from behind me causes me to suck in a harsh gasp as I whip around quickly. 

“Hello, Bella,” the voice intones. 

_So much for the element of surprise_ , I grumble to myself as my eyes are met with the sight of Derek emerging from what I imagine is the kitchen, brandishing a _very_ large chef’s knife.


	19. Alone And Forsaken

“Drop the bag and kick it over here,” Derek demands, nodding his head in the direction of the bag slung over my shoulder. “No sudden movements and keep your hands where I can see them.”

“How do I know I don’t hand this over and you just sic Sy on me anyway?” I query, trying to stall. 

“Guess you don’t,” comes his short reply. 

“That isn’t exactly a shining encouragement, Derek.” 

Clearly fed up with my refusal to obey, he raises his clutched knife threateningly. “Give me the money now, Isabella,” he says, growing angry. 

I need his word that he won’t take the money and turn on me, ratting me out to Sy in the process and leaving me for dead. Once I know I’m safe, I’ll hand over the bag of _actual_ money sitting out in Desi’s car right now. 

“Promise me you’ll take this money and just go. I know the missing money can be traced back to both of us, but once Sy sees you’ve fled, he’ll know it was you that stole it and he’ll leave me alone. You’ll be long gone so you don’t have to worry about him coming after you,” I plead. “Just swear you won’t say anything to him about me, I need that assurance.” 

“You don’t need to worry about me ratting you out to Sy, your little boy toy is the one you need to be wary of,” he warns. 

At my expression of sheer confusion, he continues. “Don’t you find it a little odd that the day you return to town, some chief mafia member you’ve never met is all over you? You can’t possibly be so blind that you didn’t see what he was doing. He’s known all along that you had Sy’s missing money in that account, he just needed to get close to you as soon as possible to get it back,” he explains. “He lured you in to save his own ass, not because he was interested in you. He doesn’t care _how_ you ended up with the money so he never looked into who was depositing it, which means I’m gonna get off scot-free. He just wanted it back from you so Sy wouldn’t kill him. He doesn’t really give a shit about you, kid.” 

I consider his words for a moment, and while they make sense I refuse to believe that Negan had known the whole time. _Why bother wasting his time getting close to me when he could’ve just taken the money, being who he is and all?_

“Now that his precious money is no longer going to be in your possession, you’re merely an inconvenience. I won’t need to say a word to Sy about you because Negan is going to kill you himself.” 

His words hit me like a slap in the face. _This had been his plan all along_. What I presumed about Sy is true; once he finds out Derek has left town, Sy would know I’m not the one out of the two of us responsible for his missing money. However, the blame would still be placed on Negan because Derek is - or was - _his_ employee. 

With his knowledge of my involvement, Negan would come after me for letting Derek get away with the money. Negan is screwed if that money doesn’t make it’s way back to Sy, but I’m screwed if it _does_ ; as Derek will be killed and he has every intention of taking me down with him in that case. Derek really wouldn’t need to send Sy after me to kill me and ensure I don’t rat him out after he leaves, he’d known all along Negan would do it on his own. 

“You’re wrong,” I retort, “Negan wouldn’t kill me over money.” 

“C'mon, Bella,” he says in a condescending tone. “What, do you think he _loves_ you or something? Surely you can’t be that naïve. His money and business are the only things that matter to him. You got in the way so now you need to be handled. You and I both know how a man like Negan takes care of the people who get in his way. I’m counting on that fact. Maybe you’ll even get lucky and have the privilege of him killing you personally, rather than sending one of his men after you.” 

“You motherfucker,” I seethe. “We had a deal!” 

“Yes, we did. And I held up my end of the deal! I’m going to leave with my cash, I won’t say a word to anyone about you ever having the money. It’s not my fault that you hadn’t considered you were getting yourself involved with a conniving, murderous snake when you fucked a goddamn mob boss the minute he came sniffing around you. It’s really too bad you clearly let your feelings get involved; he’s going to kill you without a second thought.” 

My hands are shaking with anger and fear. Derek had fucked me over and now Negan is going to kill me. I knew I never should have come back here. _I just can’t fuckin’ win_. 

“How sweet, you’ll be carrying on the family legacy of being slaughtered by a Giovanzo,” he snarls. 

His words send anger shooting through my veins and I lunge at him. Before I can get my hands wrapped around his skinny little neck, he points the sharp knife in my direction and motions me to return to my previous spot. Breathing heavily and vibrating with rage, I obey. 

“The money. _Now_ ,” he commands. 

Glad that I had the foresight to bring a decoy bag with me, I drag the bag off my shoulder and drop it heavily to the ground. Shooting my foot out quickly, I kick it in Derek’s direction. I watch as he slips the zipper open to look in the bag and his face falls before crumpling in absolute seething fury. 

_Suck on that, dickhead_.


	20. Wrong Way Out

“You fuckin’ _cunt_ , where’s my money?!” Derek screams once he realizes the bag is full of junk.

“I knew you were a two-timing piece of shit who couldn’t be trusted,” I sneer, “I didn’t bring the money in with me because I knew you’d stab me in the fuckin’ back.” 

With a vengeful howl, Derek raises the hand holding the knife above his head and steps toward me. I back up further down the hallway and into an open room as I watch his eyes fill with hatred. He advances on me, the knife gripped in his hand with white-knuckled force. Suddenly, my back hits a wall and I watch as his face splits into a horrifying, malicious grin. 

“You’re fuckin’ _dead_ , bitch,” he sneers as he lunges at me with the knife. 

I’m trapped against the wall with Derek closing in on me, brandishing his weapon threateningly as the distance between the knife and my body grows ever smaller. Before he has a chance to lower the knife any further and plunge it into my flesh, I whip my hand behind me and wrap my fingers around the warmed metal pressed against my back. With lightning speed and deadly precision, I pull the trigger and blow a hole straight through his forehead. _Shoulda brought a silencer_ , I think as I mentally thank my father for making sure I was skilled with a gun, even at a young age. It had certainly paid off tonight. 

I stand frozen for several moments, observing the mess of brain matter and blood from a man I’d once known and trusted coating the floors and walls of what I now realized is a small bathroom. _Holy fuck, I just killed someone_. Running a hand through my hair in distress, I tell myself over and over that it was self-defense. My breathing starts to pick up as panic sets in. _I KILLED someone_. 

I don’t have the luxury of letting myself fall into a full-blown panic attack because at that moment I hear the sound of the front door opening. _Fuck, someone is about to find me in a bathroom with the dude I just murdered_. Moving quickly, I step over the still-warm body and peek into the hallway. _Empty_. The second I enter the hallway and head for the back door, a voice reaches my ears and I feel all the blood drain from my face. 

“ _Izzie_? What the _fuck_ are you doin’ here? Was that a fuckin’ gunshot?” The shock is abundant in his tone. _Negan_. Turning slowly, I see him standing there dressed in a black hoodie with cargo pants tucked into black combat boots. 

“Did you just rob a bank?” I comment on his attire, not answering his question, but hoping to diffuse the situation with my badly-timed sense of humor. He only stares in silence. “What, was the joke that bad?” 

Negan’s face is a plethora of varied emotions: confusion, shock, anger, even a smidge of fear as he cautiously eyes the firearm clutched in my hand. Clearly wanting an answer for my presence in the house, he takes a step toward me. In an instant, I remember Derek’s warning and I raise my gun in Negan’s direction. I watch as his face grows even more shocked and confused. _He’s here to kill you, shoot him before he has a chance_. My finger twitches on the trigger, but I can’t bring myself to press down any further. 

“What are you gonna do darlin’, _kill_ me?” he ponders. 

“Take another step and you’ll find out,” I warn. Scoffing at my threat, Negan stays put, but taunts me further. 

“Did you just _threaten_ me?” he wonders. “The gun ain’t even loaded, is it, doll?” 

“You wanna take that chance? Because I’m willing to if you are,” I keep my voice as icy as possible, letting him know that I’m done playing games. 

All it takes is a slight shift in his stance for me to cock the loaded gun with my thumb and raise it higher to aim directly between his eyes. It’s my last warning. If he moves again, I will kill him. 

“Alright, alright,” he placates, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Let’s talk about why the fuck you’re threatenin’ to blow my brains out right now.” 

“You’re here to kill me, I’m protecting myself,” I blurt out. 

Confusion and concern flit across his face briefly before he responds. “Have you lost your fuckin’ mind, doll? I’m not gonna kill you, shit. I’m here for Derek, not you. Although, I would like for you to tell me why _you’re_ here.” 

“I’m…I’m here for him too,” I reply, wondering why Negan is acting like he doesn’t know about my involvement with Derek. “I thought you knew. I thought that’s why you talked to me that day at the funeral. You were using me.” I know I’m rambling and none of my vague thoughts are making much sense. 

“Baby, I got no idea what you’re talkin’ about right now,” Negan states. “What exactly did you think I knew?” 

“The money…I had the money…your money…Sy’s money…the $35,000,” I stutter. I see anger flash in his eyes at my confession. _Maybe he doesn’t know_. 

“What money, Izzie? How do you know about that?” he questions. 

“It was in my account,” I whisper. Negan grows progressively angrier at my obscure responses and I know I need to explain it better before he _actually_ kills me. 

“How the fuck did you have my money, Isabella? Were you working with him, did you fuckin’ _steal_ from me?” he growls. 

My fear freezes me for a moment as I observe the rage swirling in Negan’s eyes. Coming to my senses, I start to explain before Negan strangles me with his bare hands over this whole fucked up misunderstanding. 

“No, no I didn’t steal anything,” I start out, hoping that getting that cleared up first will give me time for a better explanation. “I wasn’t involved with him voluntarily. Derek was embezzling your money and hiding it in an account my father had for me. He used me as a scapegoat essentially.” 

“Why _you_ , Izzie? Why did he put the money in _your_ account?” he asks, still skeptical. 

“I don’t know,” I plead. “I guess he thought I would never come home and find out about that account, so he figured he could get away with it.” 

“Where’s my money now? Is it still in your account or did he take it?” he queries. 

I shake my head, “No, I took the money out in cash. I made a deal with him. He threatened me; said if I handed over the money, he would leave town and wouldn’t tell Sy that the money had been in my account. If not he would kill me or let Sy do it.” 

“He’s the one who hurt you, isn’t he?” Negan demands. I swallow nervously at his perceptiveness before giving a tiny nod. “ _Goddammit_ , why didn’t you tell me, Izzie?!” 

“I didn’t want to involve you. Derek said Sy would kill you if you knew about Derek taking the money, I didn’t wanna get you involved in that and put you in danger,” I say, desperation in my voice. 

“The only way Sy is gonna kill me is if I don’t deliver that money and Derek along with it,” he counters. _Oh, fuck_. Judging by the look on my face, Negan knows something is wrong. “What is it? Please tell me you didn’t let him leave with that money, Iz.” 

I shake my head no as I point to the bag on the floor. Lowering my gun, I give Negan permission to step closer and inspect the bag. 

“This is just a bag of junk, where’s the money?” he asks, confused. 

“It’s a decoy, I didn’t give him the money, I still have it,” I explain. 

“Okay, so where’s Derek then?” he asks hesitantly. 

Fear blankets my face as I do nothing but stare directly at Negan. He takes a few steps, moving closer to both me and the bathroom doorway. 

“Babe, where– ,” before Negan can finish his sentence, his steps bring the bathroom into his line of vision and his jaw drops. “Ah, fuckin’ _shit_ ,” he declares. “You fuckin’ _whacked_ him?” All I can do is nod weakly. 

“Damn, I didn’t think you had it in ya, babydoll,” Negan exclaims, sounding exasperated yet almost proud. 

“Yeah, well…I’m not exactly the saint everyone seems to think I am,” I respond dryly. Shaking his head and blowing out a low whistle, Negan raises his eyes to me. He regards me with a look of respect before he reaches a hand out to me. 

“C'mon, darlin’,” he coaxes. “Someone is bound to have heard that gunshot. I got the whole police department in my pocket, but I don’t need ‘em showin’ up and findin’ us at the scene of the crime.” 

Taking his hand, I follow him out of the house. On our way out, Negan turns over his shoulder to speak, his tone deadly serious. “By the way, you _ever_ point a fuckin’ gun at me again and I’ll kill you myself,” he warns. I know I’m getting off easy considering the situation; on any other day Negan would’ve torn me to pieces for pulling that shit. 

I scan the street for his Impala, but don’t spot it. I realize why when he leads me to a huge black pickup truck. Climbing into the truck, he asks how I’d gotten here. “Desi’s car,” I answer sheepishly. “The bag of money is in it, it’s parked down the block if you wanna get it.” 

“ _Desi_ fuckin’ knew about this shit? And he let you go? On your own? Are you kiddin’ me? He’s fuckin’ _dead_ ,” he vents. 

_Sorry, Desi, I just signed your death certificate_ , I think jokingly to myself. That thought reminds me of Negan’s earlier statement that Sy would kill him if he didn’t deliver the money _and_ Derek. 

_Hope I haven’t signed your death certificate, too_.


	21. Now Hear This

Sitting on a couch opposite him, I watch as Negan nurses his second glass of scotch. In all the excitement and stress of the night, I hadn’t noticed his split lip or the bruises forming along his left cheekbone. I noticed now though, and I want to know exactly what kind of business meeting he’d been at earlier today.

“What happened to your face?” I ask gently. 

“What’s wrong with my face, sweetheart?” he responds, feigning insult. 

Smirking at his joke, I repeat my question. “Seriously, what’s up with the bruises?” 

“Sy sent one of his guys to deliver a message,” Negan admits with a sigh. “Of course his messages always come with a complimentary ass-kickin’,” he says, gesturing to his injured visage. Noticing his bruised and slightly bloodied knuckles, I assume Negan had driven home a message of his own with the guy Sy sent his way. 

“What was the message?” I pry. My question is met with silence and I can only assume it had to do with Derek and the fact that Sy wanted Negan to bring Derek to him…alive. _Too bad I already killed him_. 

“So, what do we do now?” I prod further. 

“ _We_ don’t do shit,” Negan asserts. “I don’t need you gettin’ any deeper in this shit. That money goes back to Sy where it belongs, and I’ll handle the Derek situation.” 

Before I can say another word, the doorbell rings and there’s a loud knock on Negan’s front door. He rises from the couch to see who had shown up at such a late hour. After several seconds, I hear a scuffle at the door followed by a loud voice. 

“Ow, what the _fuck_ man?!” they exclaim. I immediately recognize the sound of Desi’s voice and cringe. Knowing how pissed Negan is with him, I can only imagine what kind of abuse is currently being inflicted upon the poor man. When I hear footsteps approaching, I turn to see the pair entering the room. Negan looks pissed and Desi is gingerly cradling his jaw. 

“What happened to ‘we can’t tell Negan anything’?” Desi hisses. “You are _killing_ me.” All I can do is shrug innocently at the predicament I had caused for Desi. Deep down, I know it isn’t my fault that Negan had shown up and caught me, but I suppose I didn’t _need_ to disclose Desi’s involvement in my scheming. 

Sitting back on the couch, Negan lets out a weary sigh as Desi perches himself in an adjacent armchair. With a dramatic amount of contempt injected in his tone, Desi asks where I had gone with the money and what had transpired. Negan proceeds to fill him in on how we had crossed paths at Derek’s, as well as the situation we now found ourselves due to Derek’s untimely death. 

“Well, you could always just–,” Desi begins before Negan cuts him off, pointing a finger at him angrily. 

“ _You_ …do not fuckin’ speak,” he snarls in Desi’s direction. “Your head is so far up your ass, I don’t wanna hear not one single fuckin’ idea from you. Shut the fuck up.” 

I can’t help but snort at the way Negan speaks to Desi like a parent scolding a child. He is becoming something akin to a mama bear with her cubs when it comes to protecting me. 

When Negan reveals that I’m the one responsible for killing Derek, Desi turns to me with accusation clear in his tone. “I thought you said you were gonna be safe,” he accuses. “If I knew you were in any danger I never woulda let you step foot outta the house.” 

“I _was_ safe,” I defend. “Not my fault the fucker decided to stab me in the back and then _literally_ try to stab me in the back. There wasn’t any real danger anyway. I can handle my shit, thank you very much.” 

At the two looks of incredulity and disbelief being shot my way, I scoff indignantly and give them each the finger. Deciding I’d had more than enough drama for one day, I rise from the couch and head in the direction of the stairs. I send an expectant look in Negan’s direction before I make my way to his room. 

Stripping down to my underwear, I flop face first onto the bed, not bothering to climb under the covers. _I’m fuckin’ wiped, guess killing a dude takes a lot out of you_. It takes less than two minutes before I hear the sound of Negan’s soft footfalls followed by a loud, taunting wolf whistle. 

“Now _there’s_ a sight I could get used to,” he drawls, commenting on my sprawled state of undress. My soft giggle turns into a tiny yelp as I feel Negan lay a harsh slap on my ass. 

I shoot him a playful glare over my shoulder as I warn, “Watch it, buddy. I’m a dangerous girl.” I probably shouldn’t be making jokes about what I’d done, but I know Negan doesn’t care as he’d likely done far worse. Besides, my actions are justifiable considering my life was in danger; I’m feeling very little remorse. 

“Ooh, I _like_ a little danger, baby,” he flirts. “That shit really gets my dick hard.” 

I feel the bed dip slightly as Negan crawls across it like a predator. When he braces his arms on either side of my prone form, I roll over to look at him hovering over me, his face serious now. Bending at the elbows to lower his body against mine, he kisses me softly several times. 

The kiss is full of emotion and I know he’s putting everything he can’t put in words into the action. Reaching up, I place my hands on either side of his face, careful to avoid putting pressure on the bruised flesh. I pull his lips close to mine and return the gesture. 

“Now roll the fuck off me and go to sleep, I’m exhausted,” I whisper humorously. Negan lets out a deep chuckle at my demand, the mattress shaking slightly with the vibrations of his laughter. He rolls off the bed and yanks the comforter out from under my body before climbing back in and pulling the blanket over the both of us. 

I feel him scoot over to me and squeeze himself against my back as he slides an arm over my hip and presses his warm palm against my stomach. I relax into his touch, but when he places his lips next to my ear and speaks I tense all over again. 

“You should know…you still got some _serious_ sins to atone for, baby,” he whispers. “I mean, you _did_ threaten me with a gun. And you lied to me. _Again_.” I smile to myself when I hear his threat. I relish the idea of another punishment from Negan.


	22. Machine Gun Blues

I stare blankly at the frying pan in front of me as I wait for the bacon and eggs to cook. After everything Negan had done the past few days - including inviting me to stay with him in his lavish home - I figure making him some breakfast is the least I can do. _That and sexual favors, apparently_. Shuffling across the kitchen, I grab the coffee pot and pour myself some much needed fuel. Just as I take a sip, the sound of Negan’s roughened sleepy voice startles me and I nearly choke on the hot liquid in my mouth.

“Fuck are ya doin’ up so early?” he grumbles, rubbing his eyes. “And what the hell are you doin’ in here?” 

“Breakfast,” I utter incredulously. _As if the smell and sight of cooking bacon isn’t a dead giveaway?_

“You don’t have to do that,” he urges. “You’re supposed to be a guest, not my chef. You have enough other things to worry about.” 

I roll my eyes once he finishes his griping. “It’s eggs Negan, cooking one breakfast isn’t gonna kill me. Sit down and shut up,” I demand, pointing to the table in the dining room. 

“Watch your mouth,” he warns, shooting a small glare at me as he walks to the table. 

I finish cooking the food and dump it onto a single plate. I’m not much of a breakfast person so I’d just sneak some food off Negan’s plate if I wanted anything. I pick up the heavy plate and stride to the table to place it in front of Negan. Before I can turn to take the seat next to him, he wraps an arm around my waist and gently pulls me into his lap. 

“Thanks darlin’,” he croons, landing a sloppy kiss on my cheek. 

I try to squirm as little as possible as I get more comfortable in his lap. Nervously tugging at the over-sized t-shirt I’d filched from Negan, I do my best not to bring attention to the fact that I neglected to put on any underwear when I got out of bed earlier. 

We sit in comfortable silence as Negan eats, occasionally lifting bits of food to my mouth to feed me. I find myself increasingly distracted by the sight of his shirtless torso; the skull tattooed on his chest and his toned abs demanding my attention. By the time I’m done daydreaming and ogling him, I realize Negan has finished eating. _Dude damn near licked the plate clean_ , I note, proud of my knack for making some good-ass eggs. When I reach for the empty plate intending to bring it to the kitchen sink, I see Negan ready to put up a fight about me taking care of him, but I stop him before he can open his big mouth. 

“ _Don’t_ even say it. You don’t have to treat me like I’m gonna break just because I cooked one meal and I’m cleaning up after myself,” I bark out, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction as I stand up from the table. 

He raises his hands in surrender as he chuckles lightly. “Alright Betty Crocker, don’t getcha panties in a twist,” he defends as he turns to look out the window situated to his left. 

Peering slyly over my shoulder, I decide to tease the unsuspecting bastard just a little. “Don’t worry, I’m not wearing any,” I respond demurely. 

Negan’s reaction is instantaneous and he jerks his head in my direction so swiftly I worry about him giving himself whiplash. His expression is serious for a moment before his face splits into a predatory grin as he rises from his seat. 

“ _Ohhh_ ,” he purrs, “you are _bad_.” He takes several slow, measured steps toward me before he speaks further. “Yanno…you’re still not off the hook for your latest punishment, and it’s time to pay the piper, sweetheart.” 

Negan’s words send a wave of heat through my entire body and my heart rate accelerates as I watch him stalk closer. Moving as quickly as I dare, I reach out to place the dirtied dish in my hand down on the counter top. Before I have the chance to spin on my heel and dart out of the room, Negan’s deep voice halts me. 

“I wouldn’t even think about runnin’ if I were you,” he warns. “You don’t wanna add to your punishment, Izzie.” _Bring it on_. 

With a sly smirk painted across my features, I decide I want _exactly_ that. _Assuming he can even catch me, that is_. Not giving him a chance to guess what kind of plan I’m brewing, I whirl around and leg it into the living room. 

Negan reacts faster than I expect and I hear him hot on my heels. Letting out a playful squeal, I skirt around the furniture in the room and strategically place the coffee table between us. I watch as Negan stands slightly bent at the knees and swaying side to side, anxiously waiting for the opportunity to strike. He watches me intently with a grin and flicks his eyebrows at me, challenging me to make a run for it. 

Mentally mapping the layout of the first floor, I know the staircase is situated directly behind me. If I can manage to outrun Negan and make it to the stairs, I’d easily be able to get away from him. I’m enjoying his frisky mood and I plan to drag our little game out as long as possible. I smile at the thought of making him work a bit for what he wants. 

“You better run fuckin’ fast doll, because if I get my hands on you I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t move,” he assures. His words cause me to part my lips and release and heavy breath, barely holding back a moan. My knees threaten to give out and I decide to make my escape. 

“Come and get me, Daddy,” I taunt before moving. I twirl to the couch behind me, hop onto the plush cushions, and vault my ass right over the back. My bare feet land on the hardwood floor with a sharp slap and I barely regain my balance before I hear the shuffling sounds of Negan advancing on me. 

I bolt to the bottom of the stairs and chance a look in Negan’s direction. He’s closer than I’m comfortable with, so I launch myself onto the first step. Deciding that hauling ass is more important than looking cute, I hunch over and use my hands to climb up the stairs like a goddamn wild monkey. I barely make it halfway up when I feel a warm, strong hand wrap around my ankle, ceasing my ascension. 

Releasing a sound that’s part scream and part laugh, I use all of my strength to yank my trapped limb free with no success. Within seconds, Negan has his hands around my hips and is dragging me down to his level. Shifting so that I’m sitting on the step, I look up at him, biting my lip innocently. 

“Hi,” he drawls, cockily. Instead of answering, I make one last sad attempt to climb the stairs. I move less than an inch before Negan’s hands are pinning me down. “Where ya gonna go, pretty girl?” His dark, taunting tone and animalistic grin set my whole body ablaze. 

I instinctively part my legs when I feel his gentle touch running along the soft skin of my thighs. Negan wastes no time sliding his slender fingers through my moist folds. With my already heightened state of arousal, his light touch is enough to send me into a fit of breathy moans. 

“That’s my fuckin’ girl,” he praises. “Always so fuckin’ wet for me.” 

I let out a whine at his filthy words, meeting his eyes and silently begging for _more_. For once, Negan actually takes mercy on me and gives me what I want without a fight. He leans forward while simultaneously sliding my ass to the edge of the step for easier access. Maintaining eye contact, he exhales, his hot breath blowing across my damp thighs and burning center. The sight alone of him wedged between my thighs with hunger written all over his face causes my eyes to shut in pleasure. 

Taking advantage of my momentary blindness, Negan closes the distance between us and licks slowly from my entrance to my clit, his rough beard scraping deliciously along my sensitive inner thighs. The sudden stimulation paired with the heat of his mouth makes me jerk my hips upwards and snap my eyes open. Shooting me an arrogant smirk, Negan lays his forearm across my waist to hold me down as he wraps his lips around my clit and sucks gently. Heat courses through me at the obscene, wet sounds emanating from Negan’s ministrations. His mouth and tongue are doing sinful things to my body and I writhe uncontrollably under his grip, crying out. It’s not long before my thighs begin to shake and my orgasm hits me like a speeding train. 

Negan raises his head and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, regarding me with a smug smile. He trails wet kisses up my inner thighs as his fingers drift lightly across my sensitive clit, causing my hips to jerk away from his overstimulating touch. I take a few minutes to let my limp body recover before I hit him with some sass. 

“That all you got?” I challenge. I almost laugh out loud at his affronted expression, knowing my teasing will pay off. 

“All your squirmin’ and cryin’ tells me you can’t handle what I got, baby,” he retorts. 

Not giving me a chance to respond, Negan wraps his arms around me and moves to lift me up. Unfortunately, he seemed to forget we were on a flight of stairs and he loses his balance, sending us both tumbling down the steps. I take a moment to appreciate that we hadn’t made it very far up the stairs, so our fall is brief with minimal injuries. 

“Well, that’s not really the kind of bruises I was hoping for,” I groan out. 

Negan’s soft chuckle reaches my ears as we untangle our limbs. Rolling me over onto my back, Negan places his slender waist between my thighs. Eager to move things along, I reach for his waistband and yank his pants down enough to release his erection. 

Sensing my desperation, he lifts my hips up onto his thighs. He wraps a hand around his hardened length, gliding it between my lips and wetting the head of it. When I lift my hips trying to urge him on, he finally thrusts inside me. I let out a throaty moan as he gives me a second to accommodate his size, harshly digging his fingertips into my hips with bruising force. 

After a fleeting moment, Negan starts to rock his hips roughly. The steady stroking of his cock already has me rocketing toward a second climax. Negan peppers my neck and chest with wet kisses and sharp bites that are causing my head to spin. Struggling to gather myself, I unleash several loud moans before I find the wherewithal to speak. 

“Negan,” I beg, “harder. Fuck me.” 

The sound of my pleading voice sends Negan into a frenzy. Gripping the backs of my thighs, he pushes my knees to my chest and sets about pounding his dick in and out of my obliging body. The intense rhythm causes a scream to bubble from my throat and I reach my hands out to grip Negan’s strong thighs. Holding on for dear life, my eyes roll back as I let the fierce pleasure wash over me. 

“Fuckin’ _look_ at me,” he barks. “Look me in the fuckin’ eyes when you cum.” His growled words nearly send me over the edge, but when he speaks again, I’m done for. 

“Cum for Daddy,” he demands. 

With a strangled scream, my whole body starts to tense and convulse. Negan’s pace doesn’t slow, but I feel his hips falter slightly and I know he’s close too. The overstimulation of Negan continuing to fuck me through my orgasm has another one creeping up on me and the feeling has me panting like a bitch in heat. 

“You want me to cum in that pretty pussy?” he growls. “Huh? Tell me.” 

I can barely think with the ecstasy consuming my body and the sound of Negan’s aggressive tone. A sharp slap on my ass prods me to respond to his request. 

“Yes,” I scream, “please!” 

Redoubling his efforts and pressing his body impossibly closer to mine, Negan fucks me at a rabid pace. He wraps his arms tightly around my bent legs to stop me from sliding across the floor with the force of his thrusts. Just as my third orgasm hits me and my body clenches around his pistoning cock, Negan releases a long, low moan and I feel him cum deep inside me. 

Bracing himself on shaky arms, Negan lets my legs fall parallel to the floor and captures my lips in a lengthy, heated kiss before rolling over to lie next to me on the cool wooden floorboards. The only sound in the room is our heavy breathing. 

“Jeee-zus, you are gonna be the death of me,” he laments, panting lightly. 

Still in a post-orgasmic haze, it takes me a moment to process the next words that spill from Negan’s lips. “Move in with me,” he implores. _That’s one way to ruin a good high_. 

I don’t respond at first, not knowing _how_ to respond. I couldn’t and wouldn’t move in with him and frankly, it's ridiculous for him to even ask. I don’t do serious commitment and even the slightest indication of it when I’m not ready for it is a sure way to make me run for the hills. His words send me into a panic and I immediately go on the defensive. 

“What are you talking about? I’m not moving in with you,” I rant. “I barely know you, why would I move in with you? Just because we’re fuck buddies doesn’t mean there’s anything between us. We aren’t a _thing_ , we’re not exclusive or anything like that.” 

“Calm the hell down, Izzie,” Negan retorts. “If you think all we’re doin’ is fuckin’ you’re sadly mistaken, darlin’.” 

“Then what _are_ we doing Negan?” I snap. “What is this? There’s nothing between us but physical chemistry and great sex. Your need to claim me doesn’t go further than when we’re fucking. I don’t belong to you.” 

“Christ, pump your brakes, Red. If that’s how you really feel, then we’re both wastin’ our time,” he snarls. 

“Yeah, I guess we are,” I bite back. Standing on wobbly legs and striding up the stairs, I ignore the warm stickiness of his release dripping from my body. _Why did he have to want more from me? Why did he have to ruin a good thing?_

“Don’t walk away from me, Isabella,” Negan growls. I hear the warning in his tone, but chose to ignore him anyway and continue up the stairs. 

My body tenses when I hear him enter his bedroom behind me. I don’t bother turning to look at him or even acknowledge his presence. Whipping his t-shirt over my head, I gather my own clothes and storm to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. Speedily cleaning myself up, I tug the clothing on as quickly as possible, followed by my worn combat boots. 

Opening the door, I see Negan has also changed into dark gray pants and a t-shirt and he’s just pulling on a leather jacket as I step into the room. He looks at me expectantly, but I don’t bite. 

“So that’s it?” he asks. “Just like that, we’re done?” 

Throwing my hands up and sighing, I shrug in his direction. “I don’t know what you want from me Negan.” With that, I scoot past him through the doorway and head for the stairs. He continues to follow me, calling out as we reach the first floor. 

“Goddammit, would you fuckin’ stop and talk to me?” he yells. “You can’t just go full bitch mode on me with no explanation and then expect me to let you leave, Izzie.” 

I whip around at the sound of him calling me a bitch, but before I can tear him a new one, a sharp crack and the sound of shattering glass echo through the house. On instinct, I drop to the ground to shield myself and the deafening bangs continue in rapid-fire succession. Initially, the noise makes me think of fire crackers, but I quickly dismiss the thought when I finally recognize the sound. _Gunshots_. My suspicion is confirmed as the bullets – being fired from what sounds to be a hefty automatic weapon – begin to rip through the sheetrock walls, sending dust and debris flying through the room. 

Looking to where Negan was standing moments before, I spot him on the ground braced against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. Panic and fear are evident on his face as he reaches a hand in my direction. 

“Come to me, baby,” he urges nervously, imploring me to move fast. The shots continue to ring out as I drag myself to Negan and he gathers me close to him, turning so his body is between me and the direction the bullets are firing from. Shrapnel from the walls and various pieces of furniture rains down on us. 

What feels like the longest 15 seconds of my life pass and the staccato gunfire finally relents. I cling to Negan as I wait to see if our heavily-armed visitor is finished playing firing squad with us. When the blessed silence stretches past a minute, Negan swiftly gets to his feet pulling me with him in the direction of his garage. 

“We gotta get the fuck outta here _now_ ,” he prompts with a strained voice. 

_Never a dull moment_ …


	23. Devil At The Wheel

My right hand is fixed to the handle of the car door and my left is firmly braced on the seat next to my thigh as Negan whips his truck swiftly through the mostly empty streets. We’d opted to take the pick-up truck rather than his distinct Impala in order to be less conspicuous. With someone clearly out for our blood, we can’t be too careful. Negan navigates the vehicle expertly, but the maximal speed is nerve-wracking nonetheless. He hasn’t yet told me where we’re running off to; I surmise we’ll be staying local since he hadn’t headed for the highway, but rather the narrow back roads of the neighborhood.

I try my best to process what had just happened, however I can’t get my brain to focus long enough on the situation to get a grasp of it. My mind is reeling with a million questions, but I know better than to start rattling them off given Negan’s current state. Glancing in his direction, his tension and anger are blatant in his posture – his knuckles white from his rigid grip on the steering wheel, his muscled arms taut beneath the supple leather of his jacket, his face and jaw tight. When my eyes land on his bunched bicep, something odd catches my eye – something I’d overlooked amid all the mayhem. 

_He’s hit_. 

A brief moment of panic flashes through my body as I study the oblong tear in the worn leather sleeve of his jacket. I can barely see the wound beneath the small hole, but I can just make out the way his blood darkens the ripped edges of the leather. 

“You’re shot,” I state plainly, unable to form a sentence beyond those two words. 

Not sparing so much as a nod in my direction, Negan merely blows me off. “Occupational hazard, darlin’,” he mumbles. _Who even reacts this calmly to a bullet wound?_

“Negan, pull over,” I retort. “Let me look at it.” I make my statement sound like more of a gentle request than a demand, seeing as the man next to me is bound to throw a childish tantrum at being told to do something. 

“You a fuckin’ doctor now?” he bites out. I know it’s just misdirected anger, though that doesn’t stop me from rolling my eyes at his attitude. 

“As much trouble as it would save me, I don’t need you bleeding out and dying on me. Pull over and let me help you _please_ ,” I emphasize my plea, not that manners will go very far with this neanderthal anyway. 

Much to my surprise, Negan slows the truck and navigates it into a small, pot hole-filled parking lot. Taking in our surroundings, I realize we’re parked outside a shitty run-down motel on the outskirts of town. I briefly wonder if this is where he’d planned to take us all along or whether he really had pulled over at my behest. At this point it really doesn’t matter, I’m just glad he’d stopped at all so I can look at his wound. Before I can hop from the cab of the truck, I hear Negan’s voice informing me that there’s a first aid kit in the back. 

Leaning behind the seat, I scan the small space trying to locate the kit. Confused, all I can find is a large leather bag. I reach out and ease the zippers of the bag open, revealing the contents. It’s chock full of surgical tools and tactical medical supplies. _I was expecting some band-aids and maybe some gauze, but okay_. 

I snatch the bag up and hop out of the truck, meeting Negan as he exits the office of the motel with a room key in hand. I follow him a short distance down the sidewalk and wait as he jams the key into the lock and creaks the decrepit door open. The inside of the room isn’t nearly as disgusting as I expect, though that’s not to say I am going to enjoy staying in a musty room with God only knows what kind of creepy crawlies. I walk past Negan to place my bag of goodies on the table before pulling out the two wonky chairs and directing him to take off his jacket and sit down across from me. 

I watch with raised eyebrows as he strips the jacket from his slim torso and tosses it to the ground, the metallic buckle jangling loudly when it lands. _What a slob_. My eyes roam over his arm and take in the mess of crimson liquid smeared down the upper portion of the limb – some of it dried and cracking, some of it fresh from the still-dripping wound. The bullet hole itself is still hidden under the blood-soaked sleeve of his white t-shirt, so I scoot my chair closer and reach out with slightly vibrating hands to reveal it. 

Gently peeling the cloth from Negan’s arm, my stomach flips at the sight of his injury. A fairly deep gash mars the center of the large inked cross adorning his tan and taut bicep. The rounded wound is about an inch across and with no visible exit wound on the underside of his arm, I wonder whether the bullet ripped through or if it remains in Negan’s arm; with all the blood oozing from the gaping hole, the answer isn’t immediately clear. I’d never been great with blood to begin with and being this close to a nasty, gushing wound is not doing much for me. I fight against my niggling nausea and decide my first course of action is to rinse the gash so I can better judge the damage. Rising from my seat, I head to the bathroom to locate a towel or two. The motel is shitty, but we don’t need to add blood-stained carpet to it’s repertoire of filth. 

When I return to the room, I see Negan has lit up a cigarette; smoke billowing thickly into the already somewhat foul-smelling room. Knowing he’s stressed, I refrain from commenting on the detrimental vice he already _knows_ I hate; even letting him get away with smoking indoors. I toss several towels into Negan’s lap and pull his arm over top of them. Pulling a bottle of saline from the bag on the table, I fill a small syringe with the solution and squirt it over the wound, watching as the red rivulets race down his arm and soak into the towel upon his lap. Once I’m satisfied with the cleaning of his wound, I stretch a pair of rubber gloves over my hands and set about prodding at his arm with my nimble fingers. A silver glint catches my eye and the one thing I’d been dreading comes true. _The bullet is still in his arm_. I freeze for several seconds and I can feel Negan’s eyes burning holes into my skull. 

“What’s the matter Doctor Feelgoode, you change your mind?” he quips. I roll my eyes at his sarcastic jibe and purposely dig my fingers into the flesh surrounding the bullet hole as I lean over to grab a pair of forceps from the medical bag. I know he can take the bullet out himself if I can’t, but I’d be damned if I would give him that satisfaction. 

Focusing on my task, I take a deep breath and press the tips of the forceps into the wound in Negan’s arm until I can feel the solid lead. I wiggle the instrument around – admittedly more than necessary just to see Negan’s brow furrow with a groan of discomfort – until I can get a grip on the bullet. With my free hand, I grab a pile of gauze, preparing to press them to his injured arm once the bullet is removed. Sliding the bullet from the hole as slowly as possible, the copious flow of blood still surprises me. Moving swiftly, I use both hands to apply pressure to the gauze and soak up the viscous fluid. I hold the soiled cloth there for several minutes until the flow of blood slows before locating the small bottle of betadine solution and a suture kit. I clean around the edges of the wound then thread the needle and push the sharp tool through Negan’s skin. Finishing my few stitches, I press gauze to Negan’s arm to absorb the blood that had seeped out before replacing it with fresh gauze and securing it snugly with medical tape. 

I take in Negan’s slumped form and tired face and can’t help wonder exactly how much blood he’d actually lost. My medical knowledge is extremely limited, but I’m pretty confident that he will be fine, barring any sort of infection. Relieved that this part of our ordeal is over, I let out a heavy breath as I begin to clean up the bloodied towels and supplies in the adjoining bathroom. 

When I return to the room, I see that Negan still hasn’t moved. Whether it’s due to his exhaustion or his distress over the day’s event I can’t be sure. I place my hand lightly on his shoulder, yanking him from his thoughts. Giving him a small smile, I grab his arm and help him over to the bed, demanding that he rest for at least a little while. I need him in top form if we’re going to figure a way out of the predicament we’ve landed ourselves in. 

Laying beside him on the bed, Negan relaxes much quicker than I’d expected him to. My upper half is draped across his chest as I absently drag my fingers along the scruff blanketing his chiseled jaw. Neither of us speaks for a long while, not that there’s much to say anyway. The silence stretches for nearly an hour before Negan’s deep voice shatters it. 

“I need a fuckin’ shower,” he announces, grabbing my hand to drag me toward the bathroom with him. My attempts to stop him from furthering his injury go unheard, though I don’t expect anything less; he’s like a pit bull – sinking his teeth into something he wants and not letting go until he gets his way. 

Giving in, I stand in the bathroom with him as he turns the taps in the shower and waits for the water to warm up. I watch in fascination as he strips out of his clothes, revealing his tanned and toned body. I’d seen Negan naked before, but that still doesn’t stop my eyes from practically falling out of my head as I leer at him hungrily. I continue to stare at him as the room fills with steam and he steps into the shower, not aware of myself until his voice interrupts my reverie. 

“You gonna stand there all day waitin’ for the water to get cold, or you gonna get in here?” he gruffs. His question pushes me into action and I remove my clothes at record speed and step into the shower beside him. 

Negan is on me in a second, threading his wet hands into my deep red hair and dampening the tresses as he pulls me into a heated kiss. As quickly as he grabbed me, he lets me go; turning his back on me to grab the bottle of shampoo. He squeezes a small amount into his palm before reaching out to lather it through my hair. The gentle massaging of his fingertips on my scalp is pure bliss and a small, satisfied moan escapes me. The sound doesn’t go unnoticed by Negan as he steps closer and presses his hardening length against my thigh. I step around him to rinse my hair out before grabbing the bottle of body wash, hastily cleaning my body. 

When I’ve thoroughly rinsed the soap from myself, I shove gently at Negan’s shoulders and push him against the cool tile of the shower wall. Quirking his eyebrow at me, I respond with a devious smirk as I drop to my knees. I waste no time wrapping my hand around his thick length and begin pumping with a fast rhythm. At the sound of his first moan, I lean forward to wrap my lips around the head of his dick. The action causes him to reach down and wrap my hair tightly in his fists. With barely restrained force, he pumps his hips, shoving himself to the back of my throat and I barely hold back a gag. 

“ _Fuck_ , you take my cock so well, Izzie,” Negan praises lowly. His approval goads me further into action and I stroke enthusiastically up and down his length with both my hands as well as my mouth, occasionally swirling my tongue around his swollen, sensitive head. I feel the muscles in his thighs start to tense and twitch and I know he’s close. I barely scrape my teeth along his length before sucking gently on the tip as I look up to his face. The second our eyes meet, his whole body tenses and he releases a copious amount of hot, thick liquid into my waiting mouth. 

“Swallow it all,” Negan snarls heatedly as he pulls his slick length from between my lips. Swiping his thumb across my lower lip, he catches the few drops of his release dripping from my full mouth. His darkened eyes nearly roll into the back of his head at the sight of me drinking down every bit of what he’d offered before twirling my wet tongue around his thumb to clean it of the remnants of his cum. 

I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand before standing up and giving Negan a victorious look. Just as I turn to step out of the shower, I feel his long fingers wrap around my arm to stop me. 

“Where ya runnin’ to? Don’t you want Daddy to take care of you?” he offers breathily, running his fingers up my inner thigh. Much as I’d love for him to return the favor, I don’t want to be the one responsible for jostling his wound and making him bleed out in this shower. 

“What I want is for you to take a shower,” I retort, regarding him as he stands beneath the steady stream of water; the moisture causing his hair to droop over his eyes and stick to his forehead. “You’re a bloody mess. Literally.” Deciding to play with him just a little bit, I continue. “But maybe later, Daddy,” I purr, stepping back to escape his exploring fingers. 

Negan lets out a low growl that almost makes me change my mind before he responds. “We’ll see how long you last before you come back here beggin’ me for an orgasm, babygirl.” Not taking kindly to his challenge, I twist the handle of the shower’s temperature control to the opposite side, dousing him in an icy waterfall. By the time he opens his mouth to yell at me, the cold water hits his body and his sentence turns to a guttural howl partway through. When his scream changes pitch and raises several octaves, I can’t help but to laugh loudly at the utterly ridiculous sound. 

“Jesus _fuck_ , that’s cold as a warlock’s ballsack!” he roars. 

I snag a threadbare towel off the rack and shoot out of the bathroom, still laughing as Negan tosses out a variety of threats in my direction. Letting out one last giggle, I dry off and gather my clothes to dress myself. I realize how hungry I am and decide to sneak out to grab some food while Negan finishes his shower. I slip on my shoes and undo the lock on the door as I slink out of the room. 

I’m gone no more than two minutes when my phone rings from my back pocket. I already know who it is without checking, so I slide my finger across the screen and bring the phone up to my ear. “Ice Queen, how may I help you?” I joke, repeating the words Negan had once used back at him. The response I receive isn’t nearly as jovial. 

“ _Where the fuck are you?_ ” Negan demands. I smirk at his angry tone, imagining how mad he’d gotten when he found our room empty. _He worries far too much_. 

“Relax, I just stepped out to get some food,” I offer. Surprisingly enough, his mood calms significantly. 

“ _Well_ well, _if you ain’t just the perfect woman_ ,” he drawls. “ _You patch me up, suck my dick_ , and _feed me? What more could a man ask for?_ ” I laugh out loud and warn him that he should appreciate me more for taking care of him. 

“ _Get your sweet ass back here and I’ll_ show _you just how much I appreciate you, darlin’. Multiple times_ ,” he growls. The deep timbre of his voice making such promises has me weak in the knees and I rush him off the phone so I can finish my quest for food and get back to him. 

I step off the sidewalk to cross the cracked parking lot and head down the street, too lost in my own thoughts to hear the footsteps behind me. However, the feeling of cold steel pressed against my throat certainly gets my attention. I think about throwing an elbow back and making a run for it, but the strong arm wrapped around my chest puts an end to that plan. 

“Don’t make a sound,” a deep voice commands. “Get it the car and I won’t have to kill you.” The source of the voice pushes me in the direction of an expensive black town car with heavily tinted windows. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. 

I decide to take my chances, knowing that this asshole probably needs me alive - given my current circumstances and unsavory past, it seems obvious that there’s a purpose for my capture. He can hurt me all he wants, but he won’t kill me. With that thought, I inhale deeply and open my mouth to call out at the top of my lungs. 

“ _Negaaan!_ ” The force I put behind the scream makes me feel like I’ve just swallowed a bunch of razorblades. Before I can screech out another plea for Negan’s help, my assailant is fully manhandling me in the direction of the sleek car. In the struggle, the blade of his sharp knife slides across my collarbone, slicing it. The cut is shallow, but I can feel the thin stream of blood flowing warmly between my breasts. 

The door of the car opens from the inside, letting me know that there is someone waiting in the car. I start to fight harder now, not willing to go down without giving this idiot hell. I would do everything in my power to make this difficult for him. Unfortunately, no matter how wildly I flail and kick, we make it to the car and he dumps me inside unceremoniously with a hard shove. I continue to kick my legs, catching him in the shins several times before he manages to get close enough to place a pair of handcuffs around my wrists as he snatches my phone from my back pocket and slams the door. 

When he climbs into the passenger seat, I roll my body over to look at him. Both he and the person behind the wheel are clad all in black – gloves, masks, long-sleeved tees, the whole she-bang. I can’t see their faces, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who they are, or at the very least, who they’re working for. As the car turns onto the road and picks up speed, I close my eyes and hope like hell Negan had heard my desperate cries for help.


	24. Per Aspera Ad Inferi

After roughly 15 minutes, I give up trying to keep track of how long we’ve been driving. Wherever we’re going, I will have no choice but to go, so there is no point in timing our journey. I try to shift myself into a less painful position on the backseat, but the task isn’t exactly easy with my arms restrained behind my back. I stare daggers toward the two silent occupants in the front seat, hating them for fucking kidnapping me.

When the car comes to a stop, I do my best to squirm into an upright position, but the door swings open before I can manage. Asshole #1 grabs me around the elbow and yanks me from the car. I attempt to pull my arm from his unwanted grasp, though with a growled warning he halts my ineffective movements. Accepting that I have no immediate escape plan, I turn my head to take in my surroundings. 

Asshole #2 had parked in front of a massive mansion – one even larger and more luxurious than Negan’s – and much to my horror, I recognize the structure. I’d spent many a night here with my father’s friends and associates, living it up in the lap of luxury. We are at the Don’s house. There aren’t many people I’d met that I am afraid of, but I know firsthand what Negan’s father is capable of and that fact is enough to make me gulp in fear. _Maybe he isn’t home_. 

Wrapping a hand around my burdening cuffs, my still-masked handler leads me toward the front door. As if reading my mind, he announces that Don Giovanzo is away on a trip and I’ll be staying here awaiting his return. _Not my idea of a fun vacation_. We step through the front door and I’m lead to a staircase that descends into what I can only assume is going to be a cold and dank basement. 

“You’re not a guest, so we’ll be keeping you downstairs,” my captor announces. _How hospitable_. 

I look around when we reach the bottom of the stairs and confusion blankets me as I realize we’re standing in a large home theater type room. Before I can question it, we head down a hallway and through a furnace room to what can only be described as a jail cell. _Of course me staying in the nicely furnished part of the basement was too good to be true_ , I laugh to myself. 

I’m shoved into the tiny room and my cuffs are removed as I hear the heavy steel door slam shut behind me with a metallic clanging. The cinder-block cell holds very little – a tiny, horribly uncomfortable-looking cot as well as a toilet and sink tucked behind a half-wall of brick. Somehow I imagine _actual_ jail is probably nicer than this shithole. I plop onto the mattress and cringe at how thin and lumpy it is. I remain unmoving and staring at the dirty stone walls for what feels like hours before I hear the locking mechanism on the door release and a small amount of light leaks into the room from outside. 

A middle-aged man with shaggy brown hair steps into the room holding a tray of food that he places next to me. Or rather, a tray of stale bread and a bowl of thick brown slop that I suppose is meant to be soup. Eyeing the tray distastefully, I push it away as he addresses me. 

“I’m Jimmy,” he offers and I recognize his voice as the one belonging to the dickhead who’d pressed a knife to my throat and then left me in here. “I’ve been given the shitty job of taking care of you. Behave yourself and we ain’t gonna have no issues. Give me any shit and I’ll fuckin’ hurt you. The Don doesn’t need you badly enough that I can’t kill you, bitch.” 

I’m momentarily taken aback by his harsh words, but my shock is promptly flooded out with rage. I’ve always had an issue with authority and being told what to do, so being held here and treated like a dog is rubbing me all sorts of the wrong way. Not stopping to consider the consequences, I grab the tray of food and flip it in Jimmy’s direction, splattering both him and the wall with the foul-smelling brown concoction. I see the immediate flash of rage in his eyes as he advances on me, but I hold my ground and refuse to cower in fear. 

The first thing I register is the stinging in my scalp as he wraps a fist into my hair and hauls me into a standing position. He pulls me close to his face, breathing heavily and my initial thought is how much he could use a breath mint. 

“ _Not_ a good fuckin’ start to our relationship, you dumb bitch,” he seethes. “You just lost the privilege of food, you’re gonna starve every fuckin’ second you’re rotting down here.” 

I don’t expect to be here long, so his threat means nothing to me. I merely sneer in his direction, hatred burning in my eyes. “I wouldn’t eat your shitty food anyway, asshole,” I bite back. Some day I would learn to keep my mouth shut, but today is _certainly_ not that day. 

The force of his backhanded slap tosses my head to the side, but that does nothing to dissuade me from my fight. I could and _would_ give as good as I got. Not giving him a chance to stop me, I swiftly bring my knee up catching him right in the balls. Jimmy hunches over in pain momentarily before he grabs at my hair and flings me toward the wall on the opposite side of the room. The momentum of his movement takes me off balance and I land on my shoulder with a sharp twinge of pain, smashing my skull into the concrete wall. 

By the time I regain my bearings, I hear the heavy door opening and closing again and he reengages the locks, sealing me back up inside. Breathing heavily, I reach up to touch the warmth I feel blooming near my temple, pulling my fingers away to see the tips coated in blood. _Fuckin’ asshole is gonna regret that_. With a deep exhale of resignation, I heave myself back onto the bed and curl up with nothing else to do but wait. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

With the lack of light in my room, I have no idea what time it is or how long I’ve been in here. Given my loss of the right to be fed, no one had entered my cell since my little outburst so I can’t even tell whether it is night or day based on the light that shone through from the window just outside the room. All I know is that my head is throbbing, my whole body aches from how long I’d laid sprawled on this shitty mattress, and I smell none too pleasant from my extended period without access to a shower. Sitting here hour after hour is driving me crazy and I just want to get out or at the very least, have someone come give me an update on what my fate is to be. 

As my prison sentence stretches on and on, my mood changes from antsy to lethargic. I stop thinking about how long I’d been locked away and how much longer I will be stuck here. My lack of food and decent sleep has effectively turned me into a zombie. A smelly, hungry zombie. Not to mention the fact that being cut off from any and all human contact is fucking with me. I always thought I would be the perfect candidate for seclusion but having now experienced it, I realize it’s pure torture. 

After what feels like years of waiting, I finally hear the sound of the locks. I almost find the energy to be excited, but I’m too weak to react beyond opening my eyes at the sound of the door creaking open. Feeling a hand grab my shoulder and roll me roughly to the ground on my hands and knees, I find myself nearly wishing my visitor hadn’t shown up. Without looking up, I know it’s Jimmy’s booted feet that stand before me. I don’t move from my hunched position on my soon-to-be bruised knees, so he bends to pull me to my feet. I sway slightly at having to hold myself up on my weak legs after so long, my tired eyes struggling to focus on Jimmy’s scowling face. 

“You ready to cooperate and stop actin’ like a fuckin’ _animal_?” he snarls. _There’s the hypocritical statement of the century_. 

I ignore his question and ask one of my own. “How long have I been down here?” I query, my voice barely above a whisper. 

“Not long enough, clearly,” he retorts in response to my ignorance of his question, not bothering to give me an answer either. He shoves me down onto the cot, wrapping a handcuff around my wrist and fastening the other cuff to the rail at the foot of the bed. Stepping outside momentarily, he returns with a chair which he places much too close, taking a seat directly in front of me. “Now…where is Sy’s money?” 

_Oh, this fuckin’ shit again?_ I am _so_ sick of hearing about Sy’s goddamn money and dealing with the repercussions that had come from me taking it out of my bank account. I’m ready to throat punch the next person who so much as mentions it to me. I’m not about to give up anything to this mook, so I remain silent, staring straight ahead. When I feel Jimmy’s hand wrap around my throat with uncomfortable tightness, I meet his eyes. 

“Do _not_ test me, little girl,” he hisses. “I will beat you until every inch of your body is bloody and bruised. You can give me some answers or I’m gonna _make_ you give them to me.” His hand tightens incrementally as he speaks and I know his fingers are going to leave bruises around my neck. 

I still refuse to verbalize anything and Jimmy threatens me further. “You don’t wanna talk? Fine. Let’s see if we can get your little boyfriend here, maybe putting _his_ life on the line will have you singin’.” At that, he pulls my stolen phone from his pocket and a large hunting knife from the sheath hanging off his belt. I hear a tiny electronic beep indicating that he’s recording a video and my stomach twists in fear. _I do not like where this is heading. At all_. 

Pointing the camera in my direction, Jimmy begins narrating a message to Negan. He taunts him with threats of what he’d do to me, calling me every name under the sun in the process. I turn my head away, not looking into the camera. When Jimmy moves closer and uses his knee to pin my hips to the bed, I start to scramble, but my restrained wrist prevents my escape. Using the tip of the knife, he lifts the hem of my shirt and drags the blade across my abdomen. With one last threat to kill me if Negan doesn’t get in contact immediately, he digs the knife into my skin, slicing across my belly. I can’t hold back the panicked scream that bubbles past my lips at the burning sensation. I reach my free hand out to grab his wrist, but it only makes him dig the knife in deeper. 

Looking down I can see that while the laceration is long, it isn’t quite deep enough to do _serious_ damage. _Still hurts like hell, though_. When Jimmy places the blade of his knife under the initial slash, I whimper pathetically and try to squirm away from the weapon. My efforts are for naught and Jimmy drags the blade slowly across my skin again, creating a second gash. With Jimmy still documenting his sadistic actions for Negan, I try not to react too much, but my skin is sensitive from the first cut which makes this one hurt worse and I cry out in pain. 

“Go ahead, tell him how much it hurts,” he prods in an amused tone, moving the camera closer to my face. “Beg for him to come save your _pathetic_ life, bitch.” It takes everything in me not to visibly or verbally react as he carves a third line across my stomach; I don’t want to make this sick little video any worse for Negan than it already is. I manage to limit my reaction to nothing more than a pained expression, but when Jimmy moves his knee up to press firmly into my bloody and slashed abs, I let out a strangled scream. He lifts his blood-soaked knife to my cheek and swipes it across my cheekbone, leaving a scarlet trail behind and nicking the skin on my face in the process. 

Seemingly satisfied with his work, Jimmy ends the video and instructs me to unlock my phone so he can send it to Negan. Initially I refuse, but when he aims several sharp punches to my midsection, I relent. Dragging me down to the floor beside the bed, he sits next to me with his arm over my shoulders like we’re friends at a fucking sleepover as I watch the video message to Negan load and indicate that it’s been delivered. My entire body shakes as I clutch my only free hand to my stomach, pressing the thin material of my shirt into my wounds. 

“And now we wait,” Jimmy chirps with a toothy grin. _What a sick bastard_. 

Within minutes, my phone is ringing and I shut my eyes as I cringe at the sight of Negan’s name displayed on the screen. No matter how many different ways I think about it, there’s no good way for this to end. Time seems to move in slow motion as Jimmy swipes his finger across the screen to answer the call. 

“Hey buddy, you’re on speaker,” he calls out happily. “Say hi to your little bitch, she put on one _hell_ of a show, didn’t she?!” I stare straight ahead with deadened eyes as I listen to the phone call unfold, disgusted by Jimmy’s sick behavior and wicked taunts. 

It takes several moments for a response and when I hear Negan’s voice I nearly let out a sob. “Where is she?” he asks. His voice is deceptively slow and even. I know from experience that this level of calm is far more dangerous than any amount of anger Negan could ever display. 

“Aw c'mon, our game is no fun if I give you all the answers,” Jimmy responds. “Use your thinkin’ cap, you’ll figure it out. I’d hurry though, Sy isn’t a patient man. You’ve got 3 days. Little Izzie’s clock is tickin’!” His disturbingly chipper tone is starting to wear on me. “If you find her, maybe you can make a deal with Sy so he’ll spare her life.” The tone of his statement is heavy with sarcasm. Between the three of us, we know Sy will dispose of me once he gets Negan here and finally receives his money. _At this point, we’re all better off if Negan just doesn’t show up_. My only hope is that Negan won’t think to look for me and Sy’s henchman at his own father’s house. 

“ _When_. When I find her…because I _will_ find her. And when I do, you better pray to whatever fuckin’ God you believe in that Sy kills me before I get to you. Because you are gonna pay _dearly_ , you fuckin’ derelict piece of sorry shit,” Negan intones sharply. With that, the call ends and I curl further into myself wanting nothing more than for this to all be over. 

“Boy, he sure is a charmer,” Jimmy jokes, pulling me closer to him. When I don’t acknowledge his statement, he rolls to his feet and crouches in front of me. “One last chance before Negan gets here and Sy slaughters you in front of him, kid. One last chance to save both your asses…well, _maybe_. Where’s the money?” 

I take a moment to consider my options. I know no matter whether Negan or myself hand over the money, I am likely as good as dead either way. Unlike Negan, I have no position or importance in the organization to use as leverage for my life. On the other hand, if _I_ returned Sy’s money, I would be putting Negan in a bad spot with the mob because he’d technically still owe a debt to them. If the money is relinquished, Negan has to be the one to do it. I don’t care one way or another who got the damn money, I just wanted it out of my possession. With that established, I make my decision to keep my mouth shut. _For once_. 

My silence sets Jimmy off and he lands several brutal kicks against my ribs. I wrap an arm around myself, but it does little to protect my body from the harsh blows. The jostling of his assault causes the cuff to dig deeply into my still restrained wrist. I bite back any sound indicative of the pain I am feeling and hold on until his attack stops. With a last mumbled insult, Jimmy leaves the room, slamming the door hard behind him. 

I curl up in the fetal position on the cold concrete, dragging the cuff down the rail of the footboard with a metallic scrape; my body tucked half under the steel frame of the bed. _Everything hurts_. I lay on the floor as my body shakes, hating myself for ever deciding to come home. I think of everything that had transpired since my return and the guilt eats me up inside. If I’d stayed away I wouldn’t be lying in a bloodied, bruised heap on the floor. I wouldn’t be locked in a room, doubtlessly awaiting my execution. I wouldn’t be involved with a mob boss who was hell-bent on repeatedly saving my ass for whatever reason. I wouldn’t be responsible for all the hardship he’d gone through the past few weeks. I wouldn’t have to blame myself if this ended up costing him his life. 

_I wish the ground would split open and swallow me up into Hell, it’d be less miserable than this_ , is my last thought before my exhausted body drags me into darkness.


	25. All Fired Up

The minutes blur into hours, and the hours into days. My sense of time is still severely distorted, but based on Jimmy’s ultimatum and the fact that I am currently still alive, I deduce it had been less than 3 days since his last dreadful visit. I know Negan’s window of opportunity is speedily shrinking and my time has nearly run out.

Still cuffed to the offensive bed in the room, I roll over to stare up at the blank ceiling. I get caught up in my own thoughts when the sound of the door opening brings me back to the present. With a great amount of pain and effort, I sit up in bed to glance at the door. My collection of cuts have begun healing, making the skin of my abdomen tight and sore as _shit_. A grimace adorns my face as I observe Jimmy entering the room with yet another tray of unappealing food. My stomach growls obnoxiously and I realize I’d be willing to eat dirt at this point. I’d been starved out for what feels like ages, surviving only on the water I'd been sipping from the rusty faucet of the sink I can just barely reach in the corner. 

“Our tragic hero is on his way,” Jimmy informs me with an evil smile. “Figured the least I can do is bring the customary death row last meal for ya.” 

I roll my eyes so hard I come close to pulling a muscle. I’d almost prefer my looming death to this idiot’s annoyingly morbid sense of humor and gruesome commentary. Uncuffing my wrist from the bed, Jimmy hands me the tray of food and leans against the wall; watching as I scoff down the sandwich made of stale bread and slimy lunch meat. I wipe my mouth across the back of my hand as I chew and swallow the last remaining bite of my meal. It dawns on me that Jimmy hadn’t locked the door behind him when he came in. Not that it really matters, I have no chance of getting past him in the tiny room. _No point in running anymore anyway_. 

I wonder how long it will be before Negan gets here. As if reading my mind, Jimmy addresses his imminent arrival. “I imagine your boy will be here within the hour. No doubt under the impression he’s coming to your rescue. But he’ll never get past the guards inside the house,” he giggles out. 

A knot forms in my stomach at Jimmy’s words. He is probably correct that Negan is under the impression he can get me out of here. Even if he showed up armed or otherwise prepared for a fight, he is going to be ambushed. My guilt rears it’s ugly head with the realization that it’s my fault Negan is even stepping foot onto the property. It will be my fault when he’s captured, or worse, killed. 

Just as my head fills with a myriad of ideas about how this will all unfold, two loud gunshots ring out from the floor above. I shut my eyes as my heart leaps into my throat. 

“Show time!” Jimmy sings, clapping his hands in excitement and moving to sit beside me on the creaky bed. Without the means to see what’s going on upstairs, all I can do is hope that those bullets weren’t aimed in Negan’s direction. 

Several minutes tick by in silence as we wait for something - anything - to happen. When Jimmy shifts restlessly next to me, I realize something is up. It’s taking too long for the guards to drag Negan down here. I’m not sure whether or not that’s a good thing. The moment Jimmy rises to his feet beside me, the heavy steel door slams open with incredible force. The sight before me turns my blood to ice. 

In the doorway stands Negan, a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire hanging loosely from his hand. His leather jacket – bullet hole and all – clings tightly to his broad shoulders which heave from his labored breathing. One look at his eyes and I can see they are void of all emotion. All but fierce, unadulterated, _burning_ hatred. 

Negan moves to take a step further into the room, prompting Jimmy to haul me to my feet in front of him, utilizing me as a human shield. The feeling of cold metal pressing against my jugular is one I’m unfortunately growing familiar with. 

“One more move and I spill the bitch’s blood all over this room,” Jimmy warns. 

Though the swelling storm of blistering rage that consumes Negan’s visage isn’t directed at me, the terrifying display still shakes me to the core. I find myself backing my vibrating body into Jimmy’s tensed form just to force some distance between myself and the ticking time bomb stood across the room. My movement distracts Jimmy and Negan takes small step in our direction which makes Jimmy turn his attention away from me and back to Negan once more. Using Jimmy’s inattentiveness to my advantage, I wrap a hand around his wrist to pull the knife away from my throat and throw my head back, smashing the back of my skull into his nose. The sickening crunch of bone and the sharp grunt of pain is music to my ears. 

Twirling out of his grasp, I circle behind Jimmy, placing his body between Negan and myself. I watch nervously as Negan slowly strides closer to Jimmy, his nostrils flaring with barely restrained anger. 

“ _Not_ cool. Not fuckin’ cool,” Negan growls. “You have no idea how not fuckin’ cool this shit is. But I think you’re gonna be up to speed shortly.” He regards Jimmy momentarily before continuing. “Yeah, you are _so_ gonna regret crossing me in a few minutes.” 

Not giving Jimmy a chance to move or speak, Negan swiftly swings the barbed bat out at his kneecaps, causing him to crumple to the floor. He stands imposingly over Jimmy’s hunched form, pressing the end of his tightly-gripped bat against the man’s face. I watch as blood begins to drip down Jimmy’s stubbled face, blooming from where the barbs prick his skin. When Negan angles the bat to press a barb directly into Jimmy’s eye, I clench my eyes shut and turn away. 

“You took something of mine…you dared to lay a hand on what belongs to me, and I simply can _not_ allow that shit. So now…I am gonna beat the holy fuckin’ _fuck_ outta you,” Negan threatens darkly. The thumping sounds of the bat meeting Jimmy’s flesh mixes with his grunts of pain. I glance back in Negan’s direction just in time to see him lift the bat over his head and bring it down with staggering force on the top of Jimmy’s skull. The resounding crack that accompanies the strike churns my stomach. When Negan repeats the motion, it sends a shower of bloody rain spattering across the room, spraying both me and the wall I’m sat in front of. _Right in the face_ , I grouse. I watch in shock and awe as Negan unleashes his fury on Jimmy’s skull – or what’s left of it. I cringe, knowing the strenuous movements have probably torn the stitches I’d recently threaded through his upper arm. 

By the time he’s finished, Negan stands above a massive puddle of blood and chunky viscera; the substantial breath heaving from between his clenched teeth is the only sound in the now claustrophobic room. Not ready to meet his gaze, I gawk at the flow of blood dripping from the end of the wooden weapon that remains wrapped in his long fingers. 

“Fuck me. Nothin’ says love like bashin’ a motherfucker’s dome in for your girl,” Negan comments off-handedly. I flinch at his statement, but quickly write it off as a passing joke made in the heat of the moment. 

I finally meet Negan’s gaze and I mentally catalog my injuries, picturing what he is seeing as he scans over my body. Bruised cheekbone, sliced collarbone and face, blood dried on my forehead and soaking my t-shirt. Not to mention the things he can’t see – my sore, throbbing ribs and broken spirit. His eyes are filled with residual anger as well as slight fear and what I can only describe as pained sadness. Negan’s silent scrutiny is making me uncomfortable and I blurt out the first thought that enters my muddled head. 

“You came for me,” I mumble. 

“I told you I’d always come back for you, Izzie,” Negan states seriously, kneeling in front of me and leaving a minimal distance between us as he braces himself on the handle of his bloodied bat. 

I take a moment to examine his features closely – his thick, dark hair, his expressive golden eyes, his prominent nose and full lips, as well as his chiseled jaw and adorable dimpled cheeks. _He’s fucking beautiful_. It occurs to me then that maybe, just _maybe_ , I’d developed an affinity for this ridiculous, irritating, handsome, delightful man. 

Between the realization of my feelings and the weight of my current situation, my emotions come crashing down and get the best of me. We are _royally_ fucked and it’s all my fault. I _finally_ have something in life that makes me happy and it is about to be torn away from me. I had accepted my fate and I’m mostly prepared for my demise, but now realizing how important Negan is to me, I am not so sure I’m ready to give him up. Since I’d met him, everything has been a whirlwind, but we had fun together and I feel more alive with him than I have in a long time. _Am I ready to lose that?_

Realizing time is of the essence, I make an emotionally-fueled decision. If we are gonna die, I’m not going out without one last hurrah. I want to spend every last second I have remaining with the man poised in front of me. After an innumerable amount of days spent in seclusion, I want – no, need – to feel _something_. With that, I scramble to my knees and launch myself into Negan. My sudden movement catches him off guard and he lands roughly on his back, looking up at me with slight astonishment as his bat clatters loudly across the floor. 

“I need you,” I breathe out, straddling his narrow hips as I speak. I can already feel my arousal soaking my underwear as I grind my hips against the hardness growing beneath me. Though Negan’s expression is still somewhat taken aback, he responds immediately to my advances; his hands reach up to grip my thighs firmly as he raises his own hips to reciprocate my fervent gyrations. My impatience swells and I move my hands to unbuckle his belt and shimmy the dark gray pants lower on his hips and down to his thighs, dragging his underwear along with it to release his throbbing length. 

I stand momentarily to remove my shoes and my own jeans before returning to my position above Negan. I let out a deep moan as I rub my soaked panties along Negan’s solid erection, creating a delicious friction against my swollen folds. Watching as he rolls his head back to apprehensively study the gory mass of Jimmy’s body on the floor near us, I worry that he’s going to put a stop to my impassioned behavior. He hesitates slightly before speaking, and if I wasn’t already shaking with unbridled lust, I would have laughed out loud at his words. 

“Fuck it, he’s probably _dying_ to watch,” he jokes morbidly as he plants his booted feet flat on the ground and raises his knees behind my back. I continue rotating my hips feverishly, pushing down with more and more pressure as I try to get a reaction from Negan. My chest heaves with my panting breaths as I bunch my fists tightly in the thin material of Negan’s t-shirt. 

“Please, Negan,” I beg weakly. He reaches his strong hands up to cup my breasts and massage them roughly in his large palms; my already hardened nipples are sensitive to his touch and it sends a fresh wave of moisture dripping from my core. “Don’t tease me,” I gasp as I rock my sodden center over the head of Negan’s stiff member. 

The combination of my begging and movements finally convinces Negan to give me what I so desperately need. He slides his dexterous fingers between my legs, yanks my panties to the side, and plunges his rock hard dick into my soaked channel; fully sheathing himself in a single deep thrust. I’m too wet to need any time to adjust to Negan’s sizable length and he immediately begins slamming up into my body. I let out a lengthy scream at his jarring thrusts. The force of our coupling causes the scabbed gashes on my abdomen to split open and I can feel the warm blood soaking into my shirt. I wrap my fingers around the hem of my tee and yank it up over my head, removing my bra as well. Negan’s rhythm stutters minutely as he observes my bleeding cuts and bruised ribs. Not wanting him to stop his brutal fucking out of concern for my injuries, I lean forward to whisper in his ear. 

“Fuck me, Daddy,” I whimper softly. My teasing achieves the exact reaction I hoped for and Negan digs his hands into my waist to flip me over onto my back. Moving one hand to brace himself on the concrete floor next to my head, he continues to thrust deeply, causing the rough surface beneath me to scrape slightly against my bare back. 

Negan looks down at his other hand, spotting my blood smeared across his thumb and palm. “Izzie…” he begins in a cautious tone. 

_Shit_. I reach out to wrap my hand around his wrist, bringing his hand near my face. I meet his gaze as I wrap my lips around his thumb, cleaning my own blood from his finger with a lewd swirling of my tongue. The blazing lust that explodes in his eyes paired with the halting of his thrusting hips lets me know that I’ve just unleashed a beast within Negan. 

Swiftly wrapping his arms behind my back, he lifts me and throws me down onto the thin mattress pressed against the wall. My hard landing jostles my bruised ribs and sends a sharp pain through my side, but I’m too turned on to give a damn. After slipping off my panties and letting him remove his shirt and jacket, I twine my slender legs around Negan’s hips, using my feet to slide his rumpled pants further down his long legs as I pull him onto the bed with me. I moan loudly when he slides his dick back inside me easily, renewing his powerful thrusts. He presses his thumb against my clit and rubs fiercely, making me orgasm almost instantly with a throaty scream. 

Negan’s strokes decrease in speed, but not in depth or force. I continue to let out soft cries and mewls as his thick cock rubs perfectly against my walls. He leans down to capture my lips in several heated, open-mouthed kisses. When he pulls away, I see the blood that had sprayed across my own face earlier has now transferred along his jaw; visible mostly in the light gray hairs of his beard. The sight of Negan’s blood-smeared face reignites the lust burning within me and I yank his lips back to mine in a passionate kiss as I moan wantonly into his mouth. Negan smirks knowingly down at me at my display of desperate behavior. 

“Look at my dirty fuckin’ girl,” he drawls. “Squirmin’ on my dick and moanin’ like a little slut.” I wiggle my hips and cry out, trying to entice him to start moving faster. I squeeze my hands around his biceps and feel a warm wetness soaking my palm as I realize he had in fact popped the stitches I’d used to sew up his wound and now he’s bleeding slightly. 

Dragging my fingers up my torso, I leave a streak of Negan’s blood along my ribs. I wrap my hands around my breasts, kneading gently. I’m pulling out all the stops in an attempt to make Negan burn with as much hunger as I am feeling right now. I run my hands enticingly down my stomach; noticing the layer of blood coating my palms – both from my own wounds and Negan’s. I reach out to rub my hands down Negan’s abs, streaking them in the crimson residue of our combined fluids before trailing my fingertips over the base of his dick. My mouth waters slightly at the bloody spectacle I’ve created. 

“You’re fuckin’ _filthy_ , a little blood and your needy pussy is fuckin’ drenched,” he growls. My sanguineous act finally pushes him to resume his animalistic onslaught. “Are you gonna cum for me again?” 

I nod my head enthusiastically as I meet Negan’s every thrust, lifting my hips to his and creating a delicious rhythm. The air is heavy with the scent of sweat and sex, mingling with the faint metallic odor blossoming from my sticky, dripping wounds. “Say it, Izzie. Tell Daddy what you want, babygirl” he demands with a throaty rasp. 

“I wanna cum,” I beg. “Please let me cum on your cock, Negan.” If I thought his punishing pace was too much to handle before, it was nothing compared to the savage way he is fucking me now. I can’t even manage to catch my breath enough to make a single sound. If I don’t cum soon, I’m surely going to suffocate. _Death by sex, what a way to go_. 

When Negan returns his relentless fingers to my sensitive clit, I nearly pass out at the severity of the stimulation coursing through my body. With a strong hand enveloping my throat and a growled command to cum, Negan pulls his dick out so only the head remains still inside my clenching body. I feel a rush of heat exploding from my core and with an ear-splitting scream, my walls contract and I squirt, coating Negan’s length and his pelvis in a thin layer of moisture. My body is writhing and quivering and my cheeks burn with embarrassment for a moment; when I look up to find Negan’s expression flooded with lust, the fleeting shame rushes from my mind. 

“Oh, fuck. I need to make you cum like that more often,” he groans. “That shit was fuckin’ _hot_ , baby.” 

As my orgasm ebbs slightly, I finally manage to drag some much needed air into my lungs and Negan takes the opportunity to spread my thighs wide and drive his soaked length past my lips and back into my shaking body. I pant heavily as Negan continues his bruising thrusts through my slippery folds before tensing and spasming inside me. He leans over to place his teeth to my shoulder, biting down harshly and cumming with a ferocious moan. I cry out at the burning sensation on my broken skin as Negan snarls against my shoulder and fills my body with his warm, copious spurts of release. 

When he pulls his softening member out of me after taking a moment to catch his breath, he reaches a hand down to trail across my bloody abdomen and then through the sticky liquid dripping from my slit, creating a swirl of red and white on his long fingers. He watches in fascination as he brings his moist fingers to my face and drags them across my lower lip before shoving them into my slightly gaping mouth with a command to suck them clean. I wrap my tongue around his wet fingers, laving the digits before Negan slides them from between my lips. I clench my thighs together when Negan raises his slick fingers to his own lips, using his mouth to suck off the residual mixture of blood, my saliva, and our combined juices. 

Looming above me on his elbows, I stare up at Negan’s sweat-covered face; our eyes locked in a heated gaze as we struggle to come down from our respective climaxes. I reach a hand up to wipe away a drop of perspiration before it can roll down his brow and into his eyes. He brushes a piece of hair away from my face before landing his lips on mine and kissing me slowly. Once we both catch our breath and I get my brain to function normally again, I remember that the whole reason Negan is even here is to meet with Sy. That means he’d probably be showing up at any moment. I push gently at Negan’s heavy form and slip out from underneath him. 

“We have to go,” I advise him softly. His body remains unmoving, though he flicks his eyes in my direction as I frantically collect my discarded clothing. After a few seconds, he starts to sit up and does the same, swiping the worn sheet off the shitty bed and using it to clean us both up at least a little before we redress ourselves in silence. My breath catches in my throat as I feel Negan tug me harshly into his chest. With an arm wound tightly against my lower back, he lifts my chin up to look me in the eyes. 

“You scared the shit outta me, babygirl,” he admits lowly. “Thought I was gonna lose you.” I squirm awkwardly in his arms, not sure how to respond. I note the sincerity in his eyes and while I appreciate the sentiment, I want to remove myself from the uncomfortable interaction. It’s still strange to see him show any emotion toward me or voice concern for my well-being, no matter how genuine I know it is. Standing on my toes, I place a small kiss on his soft lips and extract myself from his embrace. Thankfully he takes the hint and immediately heads for the door, snatching up his discarded bat and taking my hand in his to drag me along with him. 

When we reach the top of the stairs and walk through the open entryway, I spot two bodies and a discarded pistol on the floor. _So those were the two gunshots_. Halting my steps, I squeeze Negan’s hand to get his attention. While I’m well aware of his symbiotic relationship with the authorities, I know it’s best not to leave evidence just lying around. Plus, cleaning up after ourselves makes it easier for the police department to cover up for us anyway. 

“Let’s burn it down,” I propose suddenly, waiting for Negan’s reaction. Without a word, he releases my hand and hastily shoves his bat into my grasp before leaving the room. After a minute, he returns with several bottles of alcohol and a handful of dish towels. A cunning grin spreads slowly across my face. _Molotovs_. 

Making our way outside, Negan stops to pull a handgun from a holster on one of the bodies sprawled on the floor, shoving the weapon under his belt and into the front of his pants. We move into the yard and I lay the bat gently in the grass and grab a bottle as I wait for Negan to prepare the incendiary devices. Negan produces a lighter from his jacket pocket and reaches out to ignite the end of the towel hanging from the neck of the bottle in my hand before lighting his own. I watch in fascination as he pulls out a cigarette, daring to light the end of it on the fast-burning device clutched in his hand. Sharing a devious look, we turn toward the house and pitch our respective bombs through either front window of the house, smashing the panes with a sharp crack. The Molotov cocktails explode instantaneously and we stand in the yard surveying the scene as the flames grow more intense and begin to lap at the interior of the house. We observe the inferno for several minutes until the groaning, crackling structure begins to crumble. 

“Burn in hell, you worthless fuck,” Negan sneers, the cigarette between his lips bouncing slightly with the words. I know he’s referring to Jimmy and I find myself wishing the sick piece of shit were still alive inside the flaming house, he deserved to suffer. Negan slides an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close to him as I wrap my own arms around his slim waist. 

“ _Vaffanculo_ ,” I utter bitterly in consensus, my tongue-in-cheek usage of the language a contemptuous nod to the burdensome Italian syndicate. Negan and I remain in our tight embrace until the distant sound of sirens ring out and we decide it’s time to make our escape and leave behind the collapsing hell-house.


	26. Signed And Sealed In Blood

Following our brief act of pyromania, Negan takes us back to his house – finally driving his Impala again. With Sy still a very real danger, I’m hesitant to return to the first place he would come looking for us. Aside from that, we’d already been attacked here once before, which only serves to multiply my anxiety. However, Negan’s presence allays that fear in spades. When we stop in the driveway, Negan implores me to stay in the car until he secures the house and ensures it’s safe for us to go inside.

Before he can close the car door behind him, he turns back in my direction, bending at the waist to regard me in the passenger seat. “Are you actually gonna listen to me for once and stay put, or am I just wastin’ my breath here?” he asks sardonically. At my sheepish smile aimed in his direction, he sighs dramatically with a roll of his eyes and gestures for me to follow him to the house. 

We’ve not yet reached the entryway when I can see that the front door has been busted open, the splintered frame and door left ajar indicative of a break in. Negan stops for a moment to regard the sight before gripping my elbow and pushing me back into the car, telling me that it isn’t safe for us to go inside. Though I wonder why he didn’t just go in and look around, I don’t argue with his decision. Revving the engine loudly, Negan screeches down the driveway and speeds away down the paved street. 

Breaking the silence, I try to offer a proposition. “Can we go to Desi’s?” I ponder. 

“Not safe. He’s my right-hand man, it’s too obvious. We’ll find somewhere else to go,” Negan mumbles. Racking my brain, the only other person I know will be willing to help us is Patrick. I offer up the suggestion, relieved when Negan agrees. As far as the mob knows, Patrick isn’t an immediately obvious source of shelter, so at the very least, staying with him will buy us some time. I relay Patrick’s address to Negan; he lives just outside the Bronx so we have a short drive ahead of us. 

I can’t stand the quietude within the racing car for very long and I attempt to stir up some conversation. “Thank you,” I begin. “For everything, I mean. I know I’ve given you a lot of shit and made your life hell and you didn’t have to help me. This time or any other time I got myself into something. I appreciate it.” I cringe at my own words, I’d always been averse to any display of emotion or openness, no matter how microscopic. The few seconds it takes for Negan to respond seem to drag on forever in my uncomfortable state. 

“Don’t mention it, darlin’,” he mumbles lowly. “Least I could do for a pretty little lady like yourself.” I’m thankful for his joking tone and his endeavor to lighten the mood. 

“Yeah, yeah. But still, you didn’t have to put yourself in danger just for my sake,” I add. _Stop pushing it, just thank him and let it go_. 

Negan diverts his eyes from the road to regard me seriously for several seconds. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head before he addresses me. 

“Sweetheart, you gave up whatever life you made for yourself and stuck around here just because I asked you to. I wasn’t about to leave you high and dry when you needed me,” he declares. 

“I probably would’ve stayed here for awhile anyway,” I counter. “It’s not your fault I’m still around.” We both know that’s a lie, but it doesn’t stop me from refusing to let Negan take credit for my extended stay. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you owed me anything.” This time when Negan aims an intense stare in my direction, it stretches long enough that I begin to worry about his prolonged distraction from the road. 

“I care about you, Izzie. Deeply. Is that so hard to believe? I _killed_ a man for laying a hand on you and you really think it’s because I felt I _owed_ you something?” Negan defends, a tinge of frustration filtering into his terse tone. 

I fidget uncomfortably in my seat at his statement. On one hand it feels good to hear him say he cares about me, but on the other hand my fucked up brain immediately goes into panic mode at any mention of emotions or attachment; flat out refusing to let me bask in the warmth Negan’s words cause. Before I can stop myself, my big mouth opens in an attempt to deflect my own uneasy feelings. 

“How can you care about me? Why? I’ve done nothing but cause trouble for you since we met. I’ve enjoyed our time together, but aren’t you sick of all the tiresome shit that’s come along with it?” I barely manage to contain my thoughts, stopping them before I launch into a panicked tirade. Even with the distance between us and the sound of the Impala’s engine, I can hear Negan’s teeth grinding together as he tightens his jaw. 

“How do I…what…fuckin’…are you-” he stutters, beginning to repeat my question in disbelief before explaining himself. “You are _by far_ the most ornery, stubborn, and oblivious person I have ever met. I _love_ you. You drive me absolutely batshit crazy, but _goddammit_ woman, I fuckin’ love you,” he growls with heavy exasperation. 

My chest tightens suddenly at his honest admission. Tension takes hold of my entire body and I tilt my head to stare dumbfounded at the side of Negan’s face. I have so many things zooming through my mind that I can’t decide which one to focus on. Instead, my mouth flaps open and shut like a dying fish as I succumb to my paralyzing shock. _I must look so fucking ridiculous right now_. 

“You don’t have to say it back to me,” Negan appeases. He reaches across the car to grip my chin tightly in his slender fingers, but the teasing tone of his next words lets me know he’s mocking me now. “You don’t have to say anything at all, don’t worry. I know you’re emotionally stunted and you’d rather rot away slowly from the inside than _ever_ admit that you have feelings and a heart.” Partially offended due to the accuracy of his observation, I slap his groping hand away though my body relaxes slightly at the realization of his understanding of my sentimental constipation. I cross my arms petulantly at the sound of Negan’s taunting chuckle at my expense, one step away from sticking my tongue out in the direction of the obnoxious man. 

“You may be an Ice Queen, baby, but you still managed to melt my shriveled, black heart,” he jabs good-naturedly. I let out a loud chuckle at his overuse of that joke as I reach over to punch him in the arm for his remark, careful to avoid hitting his healing bullet wound. Looking out the window I notice that we’ve reached Patrick’s house. Though the tension between us has diffused, I have no interest in being trapped in this car to pursue the deep and meaningful direction the conversation with Negan had adopted. 

I spot Patrick’s car parked in the driveway and breathe a relieved sigh knowing that he’s home. Halting the car, Negan jumps out and rounds the grill to meet me as I climb from my seat. Momentarily pinning me to the now-shut door, he cradles either side of my face gently in his large hands and kisses me slowly but vehemently. We share an impassioned look before Negan places a soft kiss to my forehead and turns to lead us to Patrick’s front door. I extend my arm to ring the doorbell and after a minute of no answer, I reach out to knock loudly several times. When we still receive no answer, Negan wraps his hand around the knob and twists, pushing the unlocked door open with a shrug in my direction. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Negan lay his hand over the butt of the pistol still tucked into the front of his pants and I smirk slightly at the unnecessary defensive action. 

Every light is on inside the house and I wonder why Patrick hadn’t heard the doorbell or our knocking since - by all appearances - he is home. Moving stealthily, Negan and I split up to surveil the entire first floor of the house. I glance into each room I pass, not spotting Patrick anywhere. I throw my hands up in defeat and confusion as I meet back up with Negan just inside the foyer and I see him shake his head, indicating his own fruitless search. 

“Guess we should check upst–,” I stop dead in my tracks as I look over Negan’s broad shoulder in the direction of the mud room situated just past the front door - the one room on this floor I hadn’t bothered to check. My eyes fall on something protruding from the room, sticking out into the entryway. I study the glimpse of the dark object for a long moment, not wanting to accept what I know I am seeing. A pair of black leather dress shoes. _Patrick_. I rush past Negan, not bothering to obey the sound of his voice calling out and telling me to wait. 

I reach the room in several long strides and stare down in horror at the image of Patrick’s bloodied form deposited on the ground. With a hand covering my gasping mouth, I brace myself weakly on the frame of the door. I’ve seen some disturbing shit in my life, though nothing has been quite as gruesome as this and I’m unable to rip my eyes away. A vast puddle of blood surrounds Patrick’s body, originating from the vicinity of his head. Or rather, from the vicinity of the massive wound his skull has sustained. My best guess is that someone had shot him at close range with a shotgun, given that one entire side of his skull is missing along with most of his face. Brain matter is splattered across the floor and oozing out from the gaping hole in his head. His face is barely recognizable with the amount of damage the gunshot had inflicted and I gag at the sight of the flap of skin hanging over the cratered surface of his shattered skull. 

“Holy _shit_ ,” Negan’s shocked voice startles me as he approaches from behind to see what I’m looking at. My eyes fill with unshed tears as I realize Patrick’s slaughter is on my head. While he was well-versed in the world of crime due to his job, my own personal predicament and troubles had put him in danger and consequentially cost him his life. Sy had somehow discovered my connection to Patrick as well as his involvement with me and knew I would come here looking for help. Killing Patrick makes Sy’s warning loud and clear - I am next. Sy would not rest until I paid my debt. It wouldn’t surprise me if he already knows we are here right now. My knees nearly give out at the weight of the situation and my lungs work overtime with my panicked breaths. 

I feel Negan pulling at my shaking form, but I refuse to release my now steely grip on the wooden door jamb. I can hear his voice speaking to me, but the ringing in my ears drowns out the clarity of his words. Only when he shakes me forcefully and raises his voice do I jolt from my stupor. 

“You hear me? We gotta get outta here,” Negan proclaims solemnly. “Go out the back and stay there, wait for me to come for you, got it?” I nod my head slowly, still in a haze as I trek to the back door and slide through the glass-paned French doors. I suck in a huge breath, savoring the early evening’s cooling air. My cleansing breaths calm me only slightly as I walk stiffly across the yard in the direction of the large lake at the back of the property. I crouch down and run my fingers through the lush grass as I gaze across the glassy surface of the water reflecting the sun as it begins it’s descent in the sky. 

I can’t wrap my head around the horrid sight I’d just been faced with inside. Several tears trickle slowly down my cheeks as I try to even out my breathing. Every time I think I have things figured out and that I’ll be okay, something significantly worse happens and shatters my ridiculous notion that my life could or would ever go back to normal. Each time another issue crops up, I’m dragging the few people in my life down with me. _Poor Patrick, he didn’t deserve this_. 

At the sound of soft footfalls in the grass nearing my stooped form, I straighten my legs preparing to turn my body around. I’m curious about what Negan had been doing inside the house, though not curious enough to actually ask. I spin then, wanting nothing more than to embrace Negan and hear his reassuring voice, if only to convince myself that we will make it out of this shitstorm in one piece. Every ounce of blood drains from my face and I sway unsteadily, my heart skipping a beat and threatening to stop altogether in acknowledgement of the two suited men heading directly for me.


	27. Love's A Loaded Gun

_This is it. It’s over_.

Time seems to stop as I’m hit with a serious case of tunnel vision, my eyes zeroing in on the ominous duo. Everything in me is telling me to run, but I can’t seem to make my brain communicate with my legs. Just as well, I am so fucking tired of running from everything all the time. I’m not likely to get very far anyway and the approaching men are undoubtedly armed; it’s hopeless. 

Rooted to the spot, I prepare myself for the absolute worst. Whatever is to come will certainly not be pleasant. The distance between myself and my fellow occupants of the backyard is swiftly coming to a close and I hope with every fiber of my being that whatever Negan is up to inside will keep him occupied until this is all over. I want this to end, but Negan doesn’t have to bear witness to it. 

_Ugh, Negan_. My stomach drops at the very thought of him. Thinking back on our earlier conversation, I feel an uncomfortable tightness in my chest. Negan had so boldly disclosed his feelings to me and his rare moment of raw honesty had opened my eyes to the fact that I too am harboring some deeply affectionate feelings for the normally aloof man. The realization that I am going to die before I ever get the chance to make him aware of my fondness for him causes my throat to squeeze with a hot wave of nausea. 

“You’re a hard girl to track down, Isabella,” one of the men speaks. With so little distance between us, I can no longer deny their identities. Mere feet from me stands Sy Berman and the ex-Don, Vito Giovanzo; two of the mob’s most notorious affiliates. My palms begin to sweat at the prospect of having to face the detestable capos. 

Hearing the sound of a slamming door nearby, I look up and spot Negan making a determined beeline toward our trio of tension; his face giving away his enraged disposition. I almost feel relieved at the sight of his long legs carrying his tall form briskly in our direction. He reaches us within seconds, quickly slipping himself between me and the two men while reaching an arm behind him to wrap around me protectively. 

“Get the fuck away from her,” he growls menacingly. 

Vito is the first to respond, speaking in a bored tone. “Let’s not make this more difficult than it has to be, son.” 

“No, let’s not. Your business is with me and _only_ me. Let her go and we’ll talk,” Negan proffers, his voice tight with anger. 

I figure now is as good a time as any for me to stick my foot into my big, stupid mouth and I step slightly out of Negan’s reach to address the men. “I have your money,” I volunteer. “You can have it. Take it so we can finish this and all get on with our lives.” I do my best to keep my voice as placating and calm as possible. Hearing my offer, it’s then that Sy finally speaks. 

“This…is no longer about the money,” he states in a low rasp, swirling his finger to gesture at our gathered group as he speaks. Looking to Negan, he speaks directly to him now. “This is about you letting one of your shithead men steal from me and then allowing your flavor-of-the-week whore to slip away with my money right under your damn nose. This is about your inability to handle your fuckin’ business. _This_ is about my lack of faith and trust in you, boy. Maybe if you got your face out of that bitch’s cooze and looked around for 10 seconds, you woulda known you were employing a fuckin’ thief.” 

Negan opens his mouth to retort, but Sy cuts him off, warning him that he’s not yet finished. “Our friends are getting impatient. And they’re watchin’. For once in your life you could’ve been smart…you could’ve handled this the right way, instead you went and fucked up. You let someone take from me and then you decided it was your place to kill that fucker. Not to mention you fucked up my very hard-earned business connections by shorting me on my dues. You went against the family. Now I want some recompense for that. I owe them and that means that _you_ owe _me_. Big time. That shit doesn’t fly with me and now you’re gonna pay for it.” 

“We can work this out,” Negan petitions, worry and fury coloring his tone. 

“Oh _yes_ we can. And I’m going to. Right _now_ ,” Sy declares. Detecting a tiny motion, my eyes shoot to Sy’s hand and I watch as it brushes aside his suit jacket to reveal a silver pistol tucked along his side. My eyes widen in fear as I see his fingers wrap around the butt of the gun. Everything moves in slow motion in my adrenalized state as Sy unholsters his gun and raises his arm to aim in Negan’s direction. 

“NO!” I scream in frenzied distress. Acting purely on reflexes as Sy’s arm lifts, I launch myself with as much force as I can possibly muster into the side of Negan’s solid body. My sudden and unexpected impact knocks Negan off balance, his breath is forced from his lungs with a pained grunt just as the deafening blast of the firing gun rings out. We tumble to the ground in a tangle of limbs and I land atop Negan, his sharp hip prodding abruptly into my bruised ribs and causing a flare of pain along my side. Pushing myself up on my hands, I desperately scan my eyes over Negan’s body looking for any sign that he’s been hit. To my absolute relief, I find nothing and swiftly turn my attention back to Sy. 

I see him point the gun in our direction again and I make a split-second decision. Locating the gun still tucked in the front of Negan’s waistband, I whip it out, immediately setting my sights on the threatening figure looming over us. I’m confident in my precision with a gun and don’t bother taking the time to line up my shot. Releasing some of the tension in my arm in preparation for the kickback, I squeeze the trigger and fire the gun. The bullet strikes Sy directly in the face, just under his right eye; the angle of the trajectory causes it to exit the back of his skull in a bloody explosion that sprays widely across the lush grass. The force of the gunshot knocks him backwards, a loud thump sounding as his flaccid body lands on the soft ground. 

After a moment of communal shock among us all, Vito turns to flee the yard. _Not so fuckin’ fast, asshole_. Taking careful aim this time, I release my breath and depress the trigger again sending a shot straight through his leg and likely shattering his kneecap in the process. With a yell of agony, Vito’s body abruptly slumps to the ground. I immediately rise to my feet and approach him as he writhes in pain. 

“You fucking _bitch_!” he complains. “You’ll pay for this.” Turning to Negan, his voice is angry and desperate. “Fuck you, kid. How could you let fuckin’ pussy cloud your judgement? You let some bitch come between the family? What kind of man are you? You’re so weak. Can’t even handle your business, you don’t know a fuckin’ thing about being in charge. Your inept leadership is a blemish on the fuckin’ family.” 

My rage and fear – paired with my indignation on Negan’s behalf – is so severe and consuming that an icy calm settles over me. I feel my hands begin to vibrate slightly with rage as the sight of the evil brute in front of me reminds me of the devastating loss of my mother I suffered as an innocent child. And now, here I stand, toe to toe with the man responsible for all my trauma and strife. I see Negan standing at my side, though I pay him no attention. 

When Vito raises his eyes to meet my gaze and acknowledge me, a wicked sneer splits my lips as I bare my teeth. “You’re a pathetic excuse of a person,” I intone coldly as I defend Negan’s honor. “Your son is ten times the man you’ll _ever_ be. You’re a fucking monster and a disgusting, _worthless_ murderer.” My words seem to strike a cord with him and a sickening smile forms on his face. 

“That’s right, you’re Angelo’s kid,” he scoffs nastily. “Your mother was a rat, I remember. God, she cried like such a bitch when they killed her.” His taunt and subsequent laugh sets me ablaze with loathing. “You’re gonna die the way your piece of shit mother did, put down like a _dog_ ,” he threatens. Stepping forward and cocking my gun, I glance over my shoulder at Negan, seeing his nod of approval. _This one’s for you, Mom_. 

I turn back around and fire the gun eight consecutive times, emptying the rest of the magazine into the sack of shit on the ground. Vito opens his mouth – whether to speak or scream, I’m not sure – but the bullets enter his body rapidly, stopping him before he can utter a single sound. I stare blankly as I watch the blood soak into his shirt and jacket, his body sagging, limp and finally lifeless. 

Letting the empty gun slip from my sweat-slicked fingers, I feel my knees give out and I drop unceremoniously to the ground. I brace my shaking hands on my thighs and bite back the bile rising in my throat. _I just killed two people_. The words bouncing around my head feel foreign and surreal and I can’t wrap my head around them. I feel as though I’m suffocating, trying uselessly to drag oxygen into my spasming lungs with a shallow and trembling breath. With my adrenaline speedily wearing off, an overabundance of various emotions and feelings crashes down on me. Anger. Fear. Relief. Vengeance. Redemption. Shock. Disgust. _Freedom_. Powerless to control the plethora of responses I’m having to the events that had just taken place, I pitch my body sideways and purge the contents of my stomach into the grass. 

My throat tightens again, though this time what bubbles past my lips both horrifies and surprises me. A giggle. The inappropriately cheerful sound transforms from a short tinkling to a full-blown cackle. Before long I register drops of moisture trailing down my face and I realize I’m no longer laughing, but rather sobbing hysterically. I can count on one hand the times in my life I’d cried and after all the shit I’d been through recently, the dam has finally broken and my tears and sobs show no sign of stopping. I curl my arms tightly around my jerking body as I rock back and forth while the unrestrained sounds rip violently from my throat. I don’t know how long I remain hunched and howling when I see Negan’s dirty, worn boots edge into my line of vision. 

With swollen eyes and a dripping face, I glance up at Negan’s crouched stature. The expression on his face is full of uncertainty and alarm; understandably so, given my maniacal behavior. The solace of his presence sets me off again and I weep so uncontrollably that I find myself gasping for air. Perceiving my struggle, Negan finally reaches out for me and attempts to pull me into his arms to comfort me. I grasp his t-shirt in tightly balled fists as I fight to catch my breath, choking and wheezing so hard my throat begins to burn. 

“Look at me, Izzie,” he commands soothingly, looking into my bloodshot eyes; his own golden gaze giving away the fear he’s feeling. “It’s okay, you’re fine. You have to calm down, baby.” Unable to respond, I bury my tear-soaked face against his firm chest and pull myself ever closer to his body. “Shh shh shh, we’re okay. It’s over. Just breathe, you gotta breathe, honey.” We remain an intermingled heap on the soft grass for a long while; Negan whispering placating words while smoothing a hand over my hair and cradling my head delicately as I eventually calm down to a state of hiccups and sniffles. Relaxing slightly with exhaustion, I allow myself to take comfort in the warmth of Negan’s rocking embrace as I take in the leather, sweat, and cologne tinged scent of his body. 

I tilt my head back to look into Negan’s soft tawny eyes as he uses his thumbs to gently swipe away the wetness coating my cheeks. He regards me with a look of apprehension before twisting his lips into a sympathetic and concerned half-smile. When I don’t reciprocate in any capacity, he merely presses his forehead against my own and sighs deeply as I wrap my arms weakly around his neck. Though the circumstances are less than ideal and two dead bodies lie less than 5 feet away from us, I am content to stay here with Negan, holding him in my arms where I know for sure he is safe. I never want to worry again about losing him. I never want to let him go. 

Hoisting my frail body from the ground, Negan strides slowly toward his parked car. “Let’s go home,” he whispers tiredly, his warm breath fanning across my damp face. I’m not sure whether he means my home or his, but I realize it doesn’t matter. Home would be wherever he is.


	28. Calling All Skeletons

The blinding luminosity of the radiant sun shining into my recently opened eyes causes me to groan in discomfort as I check the clock and see it’s late afternoon. I roll my tired body over, facing the center of the plush bed in an attempt to protect my sensitive eyes from the offending light. The other side of the mattress is rumpled but vacant and I wonder where Negan could be. I don’t know how he is already up and around; it has been well over 14 hours since I’d lowered my bruised and weary body into this bed and fallen asleep, yet I still feel too exhausted to even think about moving.

The blankets are joyously warm from my radiating body heat when I pull them up to my chin. Every muscle in my body is hurting and though I’d gotten more sleep than I normally would, my head is throbbing and my eyes are swollen with tiredness. Physically, I feel like shit, but that’s nothing compared to the turbulent and chaotic condition of my mentality. 

Every negative emotion from the previous day has come racing back to me as my brain catches up with my awakened body and recalls what I’d done. Everything has changed and I’m a different person; I feel as though I’ve woken up in somebody else’s skin. The skin of a murderer. The comprehension of my own nefarious actions leaves me feeling strange and uneasy. My heart and mind are at war, torn between vindication – for avenging my mother and protecting Negan – and the crushing weight of regret. Too enervated to remain cognizant and continue feeling sorry for myself, I squeeze my eyes shut and slip into a restless slumber. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

Hours later, the sound of movement over my shoulder rouses me and I open my eyes to a dark room, realizing it’s night time now. I don’t care nearly enough to roll over and face the clock, especially seeing as I have absolutely no plans to get up at any point today. I suspect the fluttering activity behind me is Negan; shuffling through the doorway and into the room, approaching the side of the bed closest to my limp form to check on me. Not bothering to rotate and interact with him, I remain unmoving in my thick cocoon of blankets. I hear the sound of something being placed on the bedside table, sounding suspiciously like a ceramic plate. The very thought of food makes my stomach churn in protest. I feel the mattress dip slightly beneath me as Negan braces himself on the bed and speaks my name in a whispered question, to which I don’t respond. With a heavy and defeated sigh, he places a light kiss to my temple and glides silently into the bathroom, closing the door over with a soft click and starting the shower. 

Alone again in the shadowy room, I am caught adrift in my own thoughts. I think of all the violence, destruction, and death I’d been faced with in the preceding weeks. It isn’t as though I am in any way unfamiliar with the seedy underbelly of the mob – my past involvement had hardened and desensitized me adequately enough, but never in my life had I experienced it so directly, so personally. The reality of a lifestyle I hoped to avoid is both sobering and frightening; I still can’t seem to grasp the idea that what I did actually happened. No matter how definitively I seek to convince myself that my drastic measures are justified, I can’t help the feelings of guilt and repugnance that I am now no better than the type of immoral scoundrels whose actions I’d previously demonized in my past. 

Excessively distracted by my introspection, I don’t hear the cessation of the running water and the creaking of the bathroom door opening back up. I forget to maintain my charade of sleep and Negan’s eyes catch my own with a hesitant yet determined gaze. _Busted_. “Ya plannin’ on leavin’ this bed any time soon, doll?” he questions lowly with a sliver of humor in his tone. I cringe at the undesirable suggestion, repelled by the prospect of ever having to heave myself back out into the world and exist again. 

“Too tired,“ is my cold and simple response as I watch Negan climb beneath the blankets beside me. I close my eyes, but I can still feel him sliding closer to me. Before he can reach out to gather me in his arms, I roll away with my back facing him and pull the blankets tighter around my shoulder. I hear him sigh in frustration though I can’t find it within myself to feel badly about my rejection and disinterest in his company. It isn’t long until I hear Negan’s breathing even out and I envy how easily he had fallen asleep as I toss and turn for hours. When dawn breaks and the sun peeks through the windows once more, my body finally takes mercy on me and allows me to fall into a light sleep. 

Negan rises from the bed only a mere 3 hours later, apologizing as his motion wakes me from my shitty nap. I watch as he slips a pair of black sweatpants low on his hips over his form-fitting underwear before he turns to regard me from his side of the bed. 

“You gotta get up today, Izzie,” he prods gently. _Like hell I do_. I stare blankly at him with no response as his expression grows slightly angry. “You can’t lay there forever feelin’ sorry for yourself,” he demands, raising the volume of his voice to a level that’s uncomfortable in the dim room. “You gotta eat somethin’. Hell, get up and take a shower, God knows you need one.” Ignoring his requests, I admit he’s right on one account; I can’t even remember the last time I showered. With all the sweat and blood coating my skin, I hope Negan has plans to burn these poor sheets if I ever manage to peel myself out of his bed. 

“Leave me alone,” I call out with a hollow mumble as I yank the thick comforter up and over my head in a pathetic and immature effort to hide from Negan. My whole body feels numb and I’m utterly drained, I don’t have the energy to deal with him. I know it’s too much to expect Negan to _actually_ go away, but it still surprises me when he tears the blanket away from my body, seizing my only form of protection from my very hands. I can see where this is headed and desperately wanting to avoid the dreaded conversation I know is coming, I wonder how long it’s going to take for me to suffocate if I hold a pillow over my own face. 

“Stop acting like a child,” Negan chides. “Don’t shut down on me and go hidin’ away in your own head. _Talk_ to me.” For whatever irrational reason, his statement causes a flare of red hot anger to course through me. Bolting upright in the bed, I do nothing to mask the cold tone of my voice. 

“Talk about _what_ , Negan?” I hiss in irritation. “What do you want me to say? I’m tired, I’m so fucking tired. And all I want is to lay here and be left the fuck alone. Can you do that one small thing for me? For once. Leave. Me. _Alone_.” Slamming my head back onto the pillow, I turn over to face the opposite wall and slam my eyes shut. Upon hearing Negan’s stomping footsteps rounding the bed, I brace myself for his inevitable explosion of yelling and rage. At the sound of his unexpectedly low – albeit firm – voice, my eyes fling open as he crouches at the side of the bed to lean in closely toward me. 

“I’m not lettin’ you do this,” he starts, his serious voice leaving absolutely no room for argument. “I know you got some crazy shit goin’ on in that pretty little head, so don’t play it off like you’re just tired. Don’t lie to me, Iz. You’re pissed and overwhelmed, so go ahead…yell and scream all you want. Fuck, beat the shit outta me if it makes you feel better, but you gotta say _somethin’_. Don’t push me away and shut me out. You can’t bottle that shit up, sweetheart, it’ll eat you up inside. Trust me, I know.” The sincerity in his tone and the underlying meaning to his last statement are what finally convinces me to open up to him. I can’t imagine the unspeakable things he’d seen and done and managed to move past in his life, so I suppose he probably knows what he is talking about. _Doesn’t mean I can’t still be pissed_. 

“Do you know why I ran away when I was 19?” I ponder, sitting up again to look at Negan as I immediately begin ranting in a bitter tone. “It wasn’t because of my mother. Not really. Yeah, her murder was what finally pushed me to follow through, but I’d been planning to leave prior to that. For _me_. I was trying to save myself from becoming anything like the people who surrounded me.” I stop momentarily when I feel Negan place his warm hands on both my bare knees in a gesture of silent support. 

“I was an awful person, Negan. I did horrible things. I was the poster child for unruly teen rebellion. I thought who the fuck I was because my father was in the mob; as far as I was concerned I was invincible and no one could touch me. I ran with a violent, dangerous crowd. You know, I used to beat the shit out of people for something as simple as looking at me the wrong way. I let the lifestyle go to my head and it turned me into a volatile monster. But I came to my senses. I saw my wrongdoings and I wanted to change, I wanted to be a better person.” I pause again to shake my head and fight back the tears gathering in my eyes. “I was so proud of myself for getting away. The one thing I _ever_ did right was removing myself from this place and getting away from all the bad influences in my life. Now look at me. I come back for less than a month and already I’ve got the blood of multiple people on my hands. I turned into the very thing I was running from.” 

Tears escape my eyes and roll quickly down my cheeks as I finish my oration. Voicing my deepest fears and struggles out loud only made them more real and my growing self-hatred causes outrage to boil within me. Unable to help myself, I lash out at Negan. “I killed your father, yet here you are still wanting anything to do with me, it’s pathetic. What the fuck does that say about _you_? Although I guess in retrospect, it makes us even in a way now, huh?” I sneer. Negan’s mouth flattens into an unamused straight line as he presses his lips together in anger. He glares at me for a moment before moving to sit alongside my hip on the bed, his hand shooting out to grip my jaw tightly. 

“Listen to me, Isabella,” he snarls, fighting not to raise his voice with us in such close proximity. “I don’t give a _fuck_ about your past or who you used to be. That’s not who you are anymore. Contrary to what you believe, you’re not a fuckin’ murderer. You did what you had to do to protect yourself and just because that involved killin’ some evil motherfuckin’ people does _not_ make you _anything_ like them, you hear me? You’re a good fuckin’ person and I don’t _ever_ wanna hear you say otherwise again.” 

I gawk at Negan in silence as more tears pour down my face at his forthright statements. He breathes heavily in anger as he watches my face closely and continues speaking. “My father was a vicious, deplorable snake and he deserved much worse than what he got. You know that just as much as I do. Sy and Derek, well that was self-defense.” I don’t respond to Negan’s adamant declarations and his expression isn’t pleased at my refusal to acknowledge or believe his words. 

“You saved my life out there, Izzie. There’s absolutely no goddamn reason for you to fuckin’ feel guilty about that shit,” Negan insists further. “And don’t you _dare_ blame yourself for Patrick. He was a good kid and he didn’t deserve to go out like that, but it wasn’t your fault. That was just a risk of him working so closely with the organization. It’s no use sitting here wallowing in all this fuckin’ self pity.” I finally nod my head weakly at his explanation. Of course he is right. His father _was_ a piece of shit, his death is the one I feel the least badly about. Considering the circumstances, I realize the only death I’d really been so upset about is Patrick’s. He hadn’t died at my hand necessarily, but I feel ridiculously guilty nonetheless. 

“Now,” Negan states seriously, “if you don’t get up right now, I will carry your ass outta this bed myself, so let’s go.” I finally obey his request, flipping the blankets off my body to stand slowly from the bed, dressed only in my underwear. Negan rises to his full height as well, towering over me as he brushes the rat’s nest of my tangled red hair away from my face where it had stuck to my wet cheeks. “I’m gonna go grab you some food. Get in the shower while I’m gone. You got 15 minutes.” With that, he lands a sharp slap on my ass and exits the room. 

After entering the bathroom and waiting for the water to heat, I remove my underwear and toss them haphazardly on the tiled floor. I step under the scalding stream of water and let it wash away the grime layered upon my skin. The filth of my body suddenly makes me feel itchy and I begin to scrub aggressively at it with a heaping handful of body wash. For several minutes, I scour my reddening skin, desperately trying to cleanse myself from the outside in to rid myself of all the stress and emotions I’d been wrought with. Hearing the bathroom door creak open and Negan’s voice warning me that I’d better be out of the shower in 5 minutes, I quickly finish cleaning and rinsing my hair and body. 

I step from the shower onto the chilly tiles and wrap myself in a fluffy white towel as I swipe a moist hand across the fogged mirror to inspect my reflection. I unwrap the towel slightly to gaze upon the glass at the healing slices across my abdomen where they’d begun to pucker as they shrunk and healed. Sliding my eyes up my flushed skin, I observe the various hickies painting my collarbone and neck, as well as the dark fingerprint-shaped bruises courtesy of Jimmy. I reach a hand up to drag slowly across the deep teeth marks where Negan had bitten me, bruises forming around the punctured skin. Warmth stirs low in my belly as I scrutinize the discoloration and remember the animalistic way in which Negan had claimed me. The sight of his mark reminds me of his awaiting presence in the other room. 

I spot a pile of fabric on the bathroom counter and realize he’d left me some clothes. _How sweet_. I feel a tiny pang of jealousy at the lacy black lingerie placed atop the pile, wondering who they initially belonged to. Lifting the garments, I nearly laugh out loud at my own irrational insecurity at the sight of the price tags still attached to them. I pull the dark lace bra and panties over my body and admire myself momentarily before grabbing the remaining clothing on the counter. Shaking the silky white fabric out I realize it’s one of Negan’s button down shirts. I slip it over my shoulders and button several buttons as I roll my eyes. _Of course he hadn’t given me any pants_. I purposely leave the top few buttons unfastened, hoping to tease Negan with the small portion of my cleavage peeking between the parted fabric. 

Reentering the bedroom, I blush slightly at Negan’s low whistle from across the room. He’s propped against the headboard of his large bed, a plate of food in his lap. I make my way over to the massive bed and climb atop the mattress to sit beside him as he surrenders the plate to me and I immediately dig in. 

“Feel better?” he asks with genuine concern. I really do. As much as his tough love approach for making me open up had pissed me off, I am glad for it. Without his relentless prodding, I never would have talked about what I was feeling and the burden of it would have made things much worse for me. Unable to speak around the massive amount of food currently shoved in my mouth, I merely make a grumbled noise of confirmation, causing Negan to chuckle. When I polish off the entire plate, Negan pulls it from my grasp to place it on the bedside table as he drags me against his side and tightens his muscular arms around my body. 

“You had me worried for a minute there, doll,” he confesses quietly. “Every time I think you’re warmin’ up to me, you manage to slip away. Tryin’ to hold onto you is like tryin’ to hold onto smoke.” Though his voice is humorous, I know he’s being serious. Negan rolls over top of me, bracing himself on an elbow as he mimics my earlier actions and runs his fingers gently across the bite mark on my shoulder. Seeing the heat growing behind his soft eyes, I remember my fears from the other day about never getting the chance to tell Negan how I feel about him. My heart races at the thought of having to speak the words aloud. 

“I’m here. I’m yours,” I speak softly, trying to alleviate the worries he’d previously admitted to me. I reach my hands up and trail my fingertips across his cheekbones and alongside the barely visible wrinkles creasing the corners of his eyes. Threading my fingers through his thick hair, I pull Negan down and capture his lips in a frenzied kiss before he can interrupt my struggling attempt to be heartfelt. Pulling away slightly I stutter, “I…I love you.” _Could you sound any more uncomfortable?_ I try not to visibly cringe at my own awkwardness as I finally return the favor of admitting those words to him. 

Negan stares deeply into my eyes for an extended moment and my nervousness grows immensely. With a goofy smirk, he finally responds with a whisper. “I guess now is a really bad time to tell you how fuckin’ hard I am.” I splutter and snort embarrassingly loud at his quip before we both break out into a fit of giggles. Negan pecks me on the lips several times between his own laughs before rolling off the bed. “Gotta piss like a racehorse, be right back,” he announces. I relax into the mattress laughing quietly to myself at the sense of relief I feel at finally confessing my feelings to Negan. I let the warmth I feel spreading through my chest blanket my entire body and I can’t help the wide grin that splits my face. For the first time in a long time, I feel genuinely okay. I feel _alive _. My self-indulgent moment is interrupted by Negan’s deep voice resonating from within the bathroom.__

__“Hey babe, can you give me a hand with this?” he calls, prompting me to look in his direction. I cackle loudly at the sight I find. There stands Negan leaning provocatively against the door frame, fully naked, with a hand wrapped around his thoroughly erect dick. My hearty laugh quickly turns to a scream when Negan gives me a predatory look as he runs full speed toward the bed and dives onto it, quickly crawling over me to trap my body beneath his own._ _

__“I changed my mind,” he growls throatily. “You’re never gettin’ outta this bed, little girl. Not until Daddy shows you just how much he loves you.” I bite my lip playfully as I let Negan take his time doing exactly that._ _


	29. Asking For It

In the days following my return to Negan’s house, we’d developed a comfortable routine with one another. Admittedly, more of our time together was spent in bed than out of it. The chemistry between us was still going strong and we were making it a mission to wear each other out.

The situation with the mob was mostly taken care of, however when news broke about the deaths of two major members, it was decided that we would need to lay low for a while. Naturally, Negan was a suspect because of his known connection to the mob and his familial relation to one of the victims; I was under suspicions by way of association. We agreed that we wouldn’t speak a word about what we’d done to a single soul, just to be sure no one would talk. We hadn’t even discussed it with one another, it was as if we were pretending it never happened. While there were no known witnesses to my crime, there was also no guarantee that none of Patrick’s neighbors had seen or heard something that could incriminate me. Most civilians were too afraid to come forward with information in a case involving the mob, but there was always the chance that someone would pay them off to share any knowledge they may have. Negan had utilized some of his connections to sweep the scene of the crime and remove any evidence of us having been there, but I still couldn’t help the niggling fear that we are going to be caught. 

Given the current climate, Negan had kept limited contact with anyone in the organization; any and all business he had was being handled from his personal office. Every few days he would lock himself in the room, answering phone calls and occasionally welcoming visitors inside to meet with him. Even muffled through the walls, the occasional booming sound of Negan’s angry voice sets me on edge. It’s none of my business though I grow increasingly curious as to what he’s up to in there and what’s making him so angry, but I don’t dare confront him and ask. 

On days when he was especially busy, I’d invite Desi over to occupy my time. When our predicament had finally calmed down, I was relieved to hear that Desi was safe from Sy’s violent clutches and we’d been practically inseparable since. We’d spent a lot of quality bonding time together, and with my notorious knack for a bad case of verbal diarrhea, I find myself struggling more and more not to confide in Desi and reveal my secret. 

Today is the sixth day in a row of Negan having a full schedule and I’d grown bored and lonely, so Desi and I are currently camped out in the living room; binge watching shitty films on the tv Negan had replaced since the barrage of bullets that had ripped through his home not long ago. Our sarcastic commentary and raucous laughter has drowned out most of the dialogue in the movies we’d seen so far, but we don’t mind. I occasionally reach over to shove hard against Desi’s shoulder, warning him to keep it down so we don’t disturb Negan. Of course my chastising does nothing but fuel our giggles and create even more of a racket. 

Halfway through a gory B-movie, I hear the sound of voices from down the hall as Negan bids his latest client farewell. I keep my eyes glued to the opening into the hallway, waiting to see Negan the moment he walks by. After so many days of him being busy, I’m in need of some attention, and I know just how to get it. 

Twisting my body to lay across the length of the couch, I throw my legs over Desi’s lap and he lays an arm limply across my shins. I hear his approaching footsteps before Negan comes into the room, propping his lean body against the wall and crossing his arms; the fabric of his white dress shirt visible beneath his suit jacket stretches tantalizingly atop his muscular chest. I drag my eyes over all 6 feet of his body, all the way down to where his long legs are crossed at the ankles. The tiny squeak of his leather shoes against the wood floor as he shifts gets my attention and I look up to his face. I watch as he passes his eyes over Desi and I sprawled across the couch together before he speaks in a bored but serious murmur. 

"Desi, you got a second?“ The tone of his voice gives away no emotion, but one look at his stern face and ticking jaw as Desi walks past him to exit the room says otherwise. Negan stares daggers at me for several long, nerve-wracking seconds before turning to follow Desi in the direction of his office. The subtle threat behind his menacing look sends an anxious thrill shooting through me. I smile to myself at his reaction, wondering how far I’ll be able to push him before he snaps. 

While the guys are gone, I move to the center of the couch so that they’ll have to sit on either side of me when they return. I plop enthusiastically onto the middle cushion, child-like giddiness oozing from me as I connive a plan to tease Negan. 

It’s not long before I hear the sound of Desi’s voice finishing up the conversation as he comes back into the room, closely followed by Negan. I smile softly in their direction as they each settle down onto the couch next to me. I place my hand gently on Negan’s thigh as we all sit back to watch the mediocre movie still playing on the tv. 

Glancing out of the side of my eye, I check to make sure Desi is focused on the movie before sliding my hand up and down Negan’s suit-clad thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. His muscular leg tenses faintly under my groping hand as I brush my fingers between his legs with a whisper of a touch. I tease him for a few minutes before removing my hand entirely as I laugh louder than necessary at something Desi had said. Desi’s joke turns to lighthearted banter between us and I lean over to bump my shoulder against his playfully as I lightly slap his thigh. I know the overly friendly action pisses Negan off when I see his knee bouncing in irritation beside me. 

"I’m gonna grab a beer, you guys want some?” I ask with pep. Hearing two responses of confirmation, I hop up from the couch and practically skip out of the room. As I step foot into the kitchen humming softly to myself, I hear Negan’s low voice from the other room excusing himself to the bathroom. Swinging the door of the fridge open, I bend at the waist to reach the bottles of beer on the bottom shelf when I feel a warm, solid pressure against my backside. I immediately shoot back up into a standing position as I feel an arm wrap around my waist and another snake up my chest to wrap a hand loosely around my throat. 

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” Negan’s deep voice rasps threateningly into my ear as he drags his scruff along the skin at the base of my neck. 

“What are you talking about?” I question, intentionally playing dumb. I gasp softly when he pulls me closer to him, constricting his strong arms around my body and tightening his hold around my throat. 

“I’m talkin’ about you bein’ all over Des just now. And then tryin’ to cop a feel of my dick,” he growls. “You think you can get away with teasin’ me like that, darlin’?” 

I let out a small cry when Negan’s hand moves from my throat to the neckline of my tank top, yanking it down harshly to expose my chest. The combination of my arousal and the cool air from the refrigerator blowing across my skin hardens my nipples instantly. Replacing his grip around my throat, Negan drops his other hand to sneak slowly down my stomach and under the waistband of both my leggings and underwear. The second his long fingers begin to teasingly massage my already damp folds, I throw my hips back against him with a moan. 

The unexpectedly loud sound leaving my lips reminds me of the presence of another person in the house and the possibility of us being caught. Coming to my senses, I fit a hand around Negan’s wrist in an attempt to extract his wandering fingers from my core. 

“Shit, Negan…Desi’s in the other room,” I plead, hoping to dissuade him from his pleasurable ministrations. 

“Then you better be quiet,” comes his unconcerned retort. 

With that, he tightens the hand around my throat and promptly shoves two long fingers into my drenched hole while latching his lips to the side of my neck and sucking a smattering of bruises along the sensitive skin. At the sound of my throaty moans, Negan moves his hand to clamp over my mouth while hissing a silencing warning directly into my ear. I grind my ass restlessly against his hardening bulge and reach back to brace my hands on his solid thighs when he drags his slicked fingers from within my body to stroke roughly over my swollen clit. I whimper desperately, unable to voice my satisfaction around the strong hand pressed over my face. I breathe erratically through my nose as my body begins to tingle and I feel my climax looming. Hearing my pleasured sounds, Negan’s fingers begin to move inexorably faster, causing my thighs to shake at the overwhelming sensation. My entire body is vibrating with pleasure and the large kitchen is silent except for the distinct sounds coming from Negan’s vigorous movements between my thighs. 

Just as he’s about to push me over the edge, Negan wrenches his hand from between my legs, refusing to relinquish the orgasm that is just beyond my reach. The hand covering my mouth barely muffles my anguished scream of objection. My masked cries and needy squirming goes ignored as Negan leans in to bite down lightly on my earlobe before speaking in a husky voice. 

“You’re playin’ a _real_ dangerous game, babygirl,” he growls. “Do _not_ push me.” With those final words, he removes his hold on me and exits the room; leaving me to stare at his retreating back, panting heavily with a bewildered and offended expression. _Two can play at that game_ , I muse as I readjust my shirt back over my heaving breasts. 

Lifting three bottles of beer from the fridge, I slam the door shut in frustration as I press the ice cold surface of one of the glass bottles to my flushed cheek. With a last effort to fix my disheveled appearance, I take a calming breath before marching back into the living room. When I reach the coffee table to set down the bottles, I purposely bend over in an exaggerated posture, giving the two sets of eyes across from me on the couch an ample view of my cleavage. My nipples are still hard and I know they’re clearly visible through the thin material of my top, but that’s just an added bonus to my charade. 

“Thanks, babes,” Desi acknowledges passively as he leans forward to grab one of the chilled bottles. I accept Desi’s words of gratitude with a wink and a saucy smile, well aware that Negan is watching our interaction closely. I know I’m playing with fire, but I can’t help myself. I have to get back at Negan and if that means getting burned, then so be it. 

Flinging my body back down on the couch between the two men, I smile to myself. I can see Negan staring intently at me from the corner of my eye, though I refuse to pay attention to him; merely staring straight ahead with a shit-eating grin plastered across my face. Cracking open my beer, I take a sip and – with Negan’s gaze still burning into me – twirl my tongue around the mouth of the bottle in a lewd gesture. When Negan turns his eyes back to the movie playing in front of us, I give him only a small break from my teasing before my mischievous side gets the better of me. Shifting myself into a more comfortable position, I angle my body toward Desi and lay my head gently on his shoulder. I feel Desi’s muscles tense beneath me and I wonder if I’m taking it too far by involving him in my little game. 

Just as Negan shifts beside me and I think he’s going to make a move, his cellphone begins ringing in his pocket. The tension in the room is palpable and I’m both relieved and disappointed by the small interruption. Negan rises jerkily from the couch and steps out into the hallway to take the call. I hear him mumbling in low tones and try to shamelessly eavesdrop before Desi’s voice grabs my attention. I’m still leaning against him, so when he turns slightly to stare directly at me, the motion causes me to lose my balance for a moment. 

“You better cool your damn tits, girl,” Desi hisses in accusation as he points a threatening finger in my direction. “I see what you’re doing, so don’t even try to give me those innocent puppy dog eyes.” 

I laugh out loud at Desi’s accurate observation. It’s no use denying what I’m doing, I know both Desi and Negan have caught on already, seeing how blatant and transparent my behavior has been. I give Desi a saccharine smile and shrug weakly, not bothering to try defending myself. 

“You are poking a very volatile bear and my ass doesn’t wanna be here when said homicidal bear wakes up and rips you apart with his angry bear claws,” Desi laments dramatically. I continue laughing, amused by his typical theatrics. “I know it’s of no concern to you Miss I-Want-Some-Angry-Make-Up-Sex, but I highly value my balls so please don’t put them on the chopping block like this. Have mercy on my sensitive bits,” he begs in a pathetic voice as he cups his hands protectively over his aforementioned bits. Desi’s put-upon and pitiful whining sends me into another fit of uncontrollable giggles that only intensifies when he covers his crotch with a sad look of pleading. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” I give in, laughing so hard I need to take a moment to catch my breath. During my apology, I’d thrown my arm over Desi’s shoulder and pulled him close in an apologetic half-hug as I bumped our heads together softly. Negan had chosen that exact moment to stroll back into the room. I whip my head around at the sound of his thumping steps and spot the scathing look he sends our way. This time my attentions toward Desi are purely innocent and not meant to piss Negan off, but they have certainly done a great job of doing so regardless. 

“He’s gonna eat my innards for supper,” Desi whispers so quietly I almost don’t hear him. I want to laugh again, but can’t seem to get the sound past the suspense and tension constricting my chest. 

After several minutes, Desi clears his throat awkwardly and announces that he has to head out to run some errands before it gets too late and darkness falls. The impending thought of being alone with Negan causes my stomach to flutter with nerves and my thighs to squeeze tightly together in anticipation as I feel warmth swirling in my core already. I nervously rub my sweaty palms on my thighs and wonder if Negan can tell how wound up I am. I watch attentively as Desi gathers his phone, keys, and suit jacket into his hands and offers a short goodbye. When the sound of the front door slamming shut echoes through the house, the tension in the atmosphere intensifies. Even over the volume of the continuing movie, I’m sure Negan can hear my pounding heartbeat. Now that we’re alone, I _know_ I’m in trouble. 

Before I even have the chance to turn in Negan’s direction, his hand flies out to delve deeply into my hair. Wrapping my locks tightly around his fist, he stands up, lifting me to my feet in front of him. I whine softly at the stinging in my scalp and the burning pit of arousal in my belly. Negan tilts my head back sharply, using his towering height to intimidate me as he glares down at me with a fiery scowl. It takes everything in me not to smile at the reaction I’ve stirred in him. 

With impressive speed, Negan drags me by my hair to the edge of the room and slams me roughly against the wall; the impact knocks the air from my lungs. Not giving me a chance to recover, Negan shoves a strong leg between my thighs, parting them as he uses his grip in my hair to force my center against his thigh. The contact creates a delicious friction and I find myself immediately grinding lustfully against him. He bites his lower lip and watches my salacious behavior with interest for several moments before forcefully spinning me around and pressing my cheek against the cool plaster of the wall. Finally removing his hand from my hair, he presses it against my shoulders, forcing me to brace my hands against the wall as I bend slightly at the waist. I drag my palms over several of the bullet holes still marring the smooth surface of the wall as the sound of his hand cracking across my ass rings loudly through the room. He executes several more well-aimed smacks until my skin is sore and undoubtedly reddened thoroughly. I can’t help the breathy moans that escape my throat each time his strong hand lands heavily against my backside. 

Spinning me back around to face him, Negan threads a hand back into my hair and grips my jaw with crushing force with the other hand. The crazed and lecherous look in his nearly-black eyes both scares and exhilarates me. I lick my lips lewdly as we lock eyes in subtle challenge; Negan’s eyes are daring me to make a sound and mine are daring him to make a move. 

“Careful how you’re lookin’ at me, little girl,” he warns. The deep, rumbling tone of his voice sends a fresh wave of arousal through my body and I bite down firmly on my bottom lip. Wanting Negan to pick up where he left off earlier in the kitchen, I reach a hand out to grope his thick erection tauntingly through his dark slacks. My dirty stunt results in Negan pushing me harder against the wall, using almost all of his weight to crush my wandering hand between our bodies and nearly lift me onto my toes. Mewling with discontent at Negan’s halting of my advances, I squirm as much as I can under the heaviness of his muscled body, trying futiley to escape his clutches and get my hands back on him. 

“Get. The Fuck. Upstairs. _Now_ ,” he snarls dangerously. My breath catches sharply in my throat and I freeze at the looming threat in his words. _I asked for this_. The moment he releases his tight grip on me, I high-tail it; taking the steps two at a time, and heading hastily for his room. My whole body is thrumming with edginess and anticipation as I wait for Negan’s imminent appearance.


	30. All I Want Is Everything

Negan wastes no time getting his hands on me when he steps foot into his bedroom. He paces directly toward the spot I stand in the center of the room, shuddering with anxiety and excitement. Bracing his hands on my hips, he immediately lifts me and throws me down harshly onto the soft mattress. I lift up and brace myself on my hands as I attempt to shuffle backwards. I try to scoot farther up the mattress and away from Negan, but his firm grip on my ankles stops my progress. He yanks me by my legs, pulling me all the way down so my lower half dangles over the edge of the bed; squeezing my legs tightly between his knees to hold me in place.

I glance up as he reaches into the pocket of his suit jacket to produce a large switchblade. Removing his jacket and tossing it to the floor, he extends the blade with a loud _snik_ and I watch as it glints in the dim light of the room. Given my recent history with knives, the sight of the weapon makes me apprehensive, though my fear only turns me on more. With a quick motion, Negan grips my tank top tightly in one hand; dragging the sharp blade from my sternum to my belly button, he easily shreds the fabric in half. Reaching up, he slices through the thin straps and tears the ruined garment from my body. Giving me an evil smirk, he holds the knife firmly against my jugular as he leans down to lick a hot stripe on the opposite side of my neck from my collarbone to my ear, causing my body to shudder. 

Removing his warm tongue from my skin, he leans back slightly as he begins to slowly and steadily drag the pointed tip of the knife down my neck, across my collarbone, and over my heaving breasts. Though he isn’t applying enough pressure to break the skin, the burning sensation on my sensitive skin lets me know the knife is at least leaving a scratch in its wake. The entranced look on Negan’s face is captivating as he twists the knife to press the entire length of the razor-sharp blade between my breasts. I struggle to contain my panting breaths and when he moves the knife with the lightest of pressure, I force my lungs to remain still altogether. My heart pounds in my chest as Negan continues the knife’s journey down the soft skin of my belly and even lower to my hips. When he reaches the curve of my pelvis and eases the tip of the knife under my waistband so that it presses more firmly into my flesh, I let out a small whimper. The sound seems to bring Negan’s attention back to me and with the look of wonder vanishing, his face quickly returns to it’s previous seriousness. 

“I don’t know what the fuck’s gotten into you,” Negan ponders out loud with a terse voice, dropping his blade on top of the jacket heaped on the floor. I sit up on my elbows to watch as he straightens up to unbutton his shirt with nimble fingers and whip it off gracefully. 

“You, I hope,” I pipe up with a wry twist of my lips, unable to resist the opportunity for a dirty remark. 

Negan’s reaction is instantaneous and delightfully frightening. Grasping my chin, he pushes roughly against me to pin my head to the mattress with incredible speed and force. He leans in, his lips just barely brushing against mine as he speaks angrily. “Do _not_ fuckin’ speak,” he grits. “Not a fuckin’ _word_.” 

“That shit you pulled tonight? Don’t _ever_ do that again,” he threatens as he lets go of my face and backs off. I watch as he curls his fingers into the waistband of my pants and underwear and yanks them clean off my legs in one fell swoop. “I don’t even know what to do with you.” His intense frustration rings clear in his tone, though that doesn’t stop my reflexive need to always have a smartass answer. 

“You can start with fucking me,” I offer, adopting a demure tone that I hope will lessen his anger. The menacing look that passes over his face assures me just how wrong I am. 

I gasp in shock as his palm connects with alternating slaps on both my inner thighs, punishing me for my inability to keep my mouth shut. 

“What the _fuck_ did I just say, Izzie?!” he snarls through gritted teeth. “One more fuckin’ sound and I promise you’ll regret it.” When I stubbornly open my mouth to talk back again, the look that sweeps over Negan’s face makes me wonder what method he is going to choose to kill me. 

Gripping my hips with bruising force, Negan flips me onto my stomach and drags me down so I’m bent over the edge of the bed. At the sound of him releasing his belt buckle, I wiggle my hips in anticipation, thinking I’d accomplished getting what I want. The whistling of his belt flying through the air and the subsequent snapping of the leather lashing across the backs of my thighs catches me off guard. The instant sting that accompanies the sound rips a surprised scream from my throat. Even with the preparation for the second hit, the sharp sensation still prompts a loud cry from me and I realize my arousal is already dripping down my thighs. With the third lash, a thin layer of sweat coats my whole body and the anticipation of release has every one of my muscles twitching. 

Negan grasps the hair at the back of my head to yank me into a standing position, leaning my head against his shoulder. “If you can’t shut your fuckin’ mouth, I’ll give you somethin’ better to do with it,” he warns. I pant in his hold, finally finding the self control to stay quiet. “When are you gonna learn that talkin’ back will always get you in trouble, huh?” 

He pushes me back into a bent position, grabbing one of my legs to rest my knee on the mattress, opening me up to him. I glance back to see him crouch down and the leg I remain standing on nearly gives out. Negan leans forward to lick at me vigorously, his hot tongue immediately parting my swollen lips. I cry out noisily and dig my clenching fists into the soft comforter atop the bed. When his unrelenting tongue probes my dripping entrance I try to squirm away from the intense pleasure, but Negan’s strong hands hold my hips still, forcing me to remain pressed against his face. Using his thumbs to part my lips, he swipes his tongue along my folds, making sure to lave every inch of my moist flesh with his heated mouth. His tongue sweeps quickly side to side over my sensitive clit and I bury my face into the crumpled blanket held in my fists as I feel my approaching climax. The groan that bubbles from within me transforms into a high-pitched squeal as Negan’s tongue persists, not giving me a second to recover from the raging pleasure wracking my body. After several more seconds of Negan’s attentions, I buck my hips as I cum on his determined tongue with a keening cry. He continues to lick and suck at my soaked core, lapping up every bit of arousal dripping out of my body from my heady release. 

While I’m still coming down from my climax, Negan pulls me up to face him, placing his hands on either side of my face as he looks intensely into my eyes before dropping one hand away from my reddened cheeks. With a swift flick of his wrist, his palm connects with my still tingling flesh as he lands a sharp slap between my legs, directly over my throbbing clit. 

“That sweet fuckin’ pussy belongs to me,” he breathes, his assertively whispered words blanketing my face in warm air. Motivated by his actions and words, I reach my hands down to unfasten his pants and shove them quickly down his strong thighs. Backing away from my demanding hands, Negan divests himself of his clothes and stands before me, gloriously naked. 

The sight of his bobbing erection sparks my hunger and I pounce on him with tenacity. Expecting my incursion, Negan wraps his arms around my waist and swings around to press my back against the wall. I twine my arms around his neck, pulling roughly at his hair as I kiss him aggressively. With my legs coiled around his hips, I try my damnedest to grind my core against Negan’s dick. Not willing to relent, he pulls his lips away from my own and angles his hips away from me. Pressing me against the wall with crushing force, he demands, “Who do you belong to, Izzie? Fuckin’ say it.” 

Desperate for him to fill me, I give in immediately. “You, Negan,” I concede breathily. “I’m yours.” My confession earns me a scorching, rough kiss as Negan threads a hand between us to brush lightly along my lips, purposely avoiding my needy clit. I let out a lively moan and squirm uncontrollably in his arms. 

“You ever gonna do dumb shit to make me jealous again, doll?” he questions, anger still evident in his voice. His fingers move faster just barely brushing my swollen clit and I can barely think straight. 

“N-no,” I whine, trying to wiggle my hips closer to Negan’s evasive fingers. “Fuck, Negan. Please.” I hate how pathetic my voice sounds, but I am well past the point of maintaining dignity. I would do anything for Negan to give me what I want. I reach down to wrap an exploratory hand around Negan’s thick member, hoping to spur him on. 

With a guttural moan, he rocks his hips into my hand, getting lost in the feeling momentarily. Pressing a dexterous finger against my entrance, Negan plunges it inside to massage my walls gently. “You want Daddy’s cock, baby?” he taunts cruelly, giving me nowhere near enough stimulation. 

“ _Fuck_ , yes!” I scream wantonly. “Please, I need you, I need you inside me.” My tone grows more strained and needy the longer Negan drags this out. I want to strangle him for torturing me so deliciously. 

Leaning in to pepper my neck with warm, wet kisses, he makes his way up to my ear. “Tell me you’re sorry,” he whispers teasingly, the proximity of his lips causing warm air to stream across my ear and send a fresh wave of wetness dripping from my body. 

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I surrender, barely able to get through the sentence without moaning. “God, please fuck me.” I’m shaking and begging and nearly in tears at this point. I tighten my thighs around Negan’s hips and grind my wet core against his erection, desperately pleading with him to enter my clenching body. 

Mercifully, he finally gives in with a growled promise to utterly destroy me; thrusting to the hilt with one rapid, smooth motion. We both unleash ravenous moans at the sensation of him so deep inside me and I dig my fingernails deeply into his bare shoulders. I savor the feeling of Negan filling my body and stretching me with pleasurable pain. I can feel Negan’s whole body vibrating as he holds me up against the wall in his strong arms, stuffed full of his long, thick cock. I squeeze my inner muscles tightly around him and glorify in the wild and vulnerable noise that escapes him as he throws his head back with his eyes rolling in pleasure. We remain in this position, neither one of us moving; a battle of wills to see who will give in first. When Negan opens his eyes again to meet my gaze, the passionate fire burning in his golden stare just about makes me give in. 

“ _Move_ ,” he commands with barely restrained wrath. His aggressive dominance is enough to urge me to obey and I immediately use every ounce of strength to lift myself on his impaling cock before lowering all the way back down until I feel the course hair at his base tickling my sensitized flesh. 

That movement is all it takes for Negan’s control to snap. Wedging his forearms under my knees, he pushes my legs practically next to my head as he slams into me powerfully. The pressure against the backs of my thighs irritates the angry red welts from Negan’s belt and the burning sensation mixes with the intense pleasure to heighten the ecstasy swarming my body. Negan’s feral grunts and groans fill the room, nearly drowned out by the pornographic wet sounds of our flesh slapping together. Every animalistic sound and movement Negan makes sends me racing toward my peak and I find myself dragging my nails unforgivably down his chest, leaving thin trails of beading blood in their wake. The pain seems to spur Negan on and he thrusts into me with jarring force; with my legs balanced atop his arms, he reaches down to grab my ass in each of his large hands, squeezing fiercely at the plump flesh. Crying out repeatedly, the volume of my vocalizations grows until my orgasm hits me forcibly and I scream Negan’s name. 

Uncompromising as I cum, Negan spins around to drop me onto the mattress as he fucks me through my orgasm, never removing his pounding dick from inside me. He lets out a lengthy growl above me, chasing after his own release. My overstimulated body is shaking violently and tears pour from my eyes at the intensity of what Negan is doing to my body. My mouth spills forth an endless recitation of praises and begging. Unable to handle the sensations coursing through me, I press both hands to Negan’s firm abdomen, pushing against him with weak arms as I feel an orgasm more intense than the previous ones coming over me. 

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” I chant anxiously. “Neg–AHH, fuck. Negan, I can’t,” I sob, a feeble attempt to get him to stop his persistent bombardment. 

My flimsy cries only serve to make Negan redouble his efforts and he begins to fuck me viciously, making me scream so loudly I’m sure my throat is bleeding. 

“You can and you _will_ ,” he affirms, shoving two fingers into my mouth to pry my jaw open in an attempt to quiet my begging. “Be a good fuckin’ girl and cum on my cock. C’mon, cum for me, baby.” Leaning forward, he latches his lips around one of my nipples and nips sharply at the soft underside of my breast before addressing me with a slight snarl. “I own you, Isabella. Body, soul, heart, and mind. You are _mine_. Now fuckin’ _cum_.” His adamant proclamation sends me rocketing toward my climax. 

I inhale deeply and the potency of my orgasm silences the scream that fights to free itself from my throat. With my mouth agape and my eyes tearing profusely, I cum harder than I ever have before. My whole body convulses and nearly squeezes Negan’s pummeling length from my channel though he fights against my clenching muscles with the fervent snapping of his strong hips as he forces his cock deep inside me, the tip of his manhood bumping against my cervix as he bottoms out. My vision blacks out momentarily and I lose focus on all my senses as my seemingly never-ending orgasm rips through my body. Slipping in and out of cognizance, my exhausted body falls limp as I feel Negan’s feverish rhythm falter and he digs his fingertips harshly into my hips. With a carnal roar, he pushes his hips flush against mine, shoving his dick as deep as he can as he floods my body with his streams of cum. 

Negan’s sweat-soaked body collapses on top of me, our slick skin sticking together as he presses me into the mattress with his weight. His hot breath puffs across my moist skin with his labored exhalations. We lay tangled together in a panting heap for a long while, basking in the aftermath of our coupling. A bone-deep exhaustion settles over me and as much as I expect to never be able to move again, I mentally thank myself for pushing Negan so far tonight. After several minutes, Negan lifts himself to drag his body next to mine, close enough so he can rest his head against my stomach, just below my breasts. I run my fingers through his damp hair, slicking it back and gently massaging his scalp as he wraps his arms around me and releases a nearly imperceptible hum of satisfaction. A comfortable silence blankets the room while we recover from our rigorous activity. 

“That was fuckin’ _awesome_ ,” Negan declares finally, his voice raw and rough from how vocal he’d been. I murmur in agreement before he speaks again. “But if you ever throw yourself at someone like that again, we’re gonna have a problem, Izzie. Is that understood?” 

Hearing his serious tone, I feel the need to explain my actions. “You’ve been busy, I just wanted your attention,” I admit sheepishly. Tilting his head slightly, Negan looks up from where his head lies against my abdomen. 

“You always have my attention, woman,” he disputes. “You’re my fuckin’ queen. You’re the only thing I see.” 

Before I have a chance to retort, he raises his voice in warning. “And I promise you, I’ll kill the next motherfucker who so much as looks at you.” I can’t help but laugh at his possessive declaration, but I won’t deny that his admission warms my heart. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.” His apology surprises me, though I stay silent as he continues. “I’ve been workin’ on some important business. I’m gettin’ out of the organization.” 

At his confession that he’s been trying to leave the mob, I hastily sit up, prompting him to do the same. “Wait, what? You’re getting out? When? How?” I implore him. _This seems too good to be true_. 

“How ain’t important. What matters is that it’s done,” he counters. “I’m a free man, baby. I can go anywhere, I can do anything.” Grinning widely at his new freedom, Negan grabs my face and kisses me sloppily. “Run away with me, Iz,” he whispers excitedly. 

Laughing at his request, I assume he’s joking but when I see the solemn look on his face at my amusement, I see he’s serious. “What, like…now? Run away with you? And go where, Negan?” 

“Hell yeah, now. No time like the present, right?” he crows happily. “We can go anywhere you want. I have more money than I know what to do with, we’ve got the world at our fingertips, darlin’.” 

I can’t believe that I’m _actually_ considering Negan’s offer. I try to blame it on my sex-brain, but I know I would do almost anything this man asked me to. Biting my lip to suppress a sardonic laugh, I agree. “Okay sure, let’s do it,” I respond derisively throwing my hands up in a gesture of surrender. 

A ridiculous goofy grin splits Negan’s handsome face, causing his dimples to deepen and give his face a look of charming, boyish glee. He grabs my hand to yank me from the bed and tells me to get dressed. I question him momentarily as I glance at the late hour displayed on the clock on the bedside table, not realizing when he had said now he literally meant _now_. 

Slipping his own clothes back on, Negan tosses me a t-shirt since he’d destroyed the one I’d been wearing. Looking at each other and laughing incredulously at our absurd spontaneity, we race down the stairs empty-handed and trot out into the cool night air to clamber into Negan’s impala in an excited rush. _I can’t believe I’m actually doing this_. We have no plan, we have no destination; all we have is each other and that’s good enough for me.


	31. Right Side Of Wrong

Sliding across the buttery smooth leather seats of the Impala, I’m virtually bouncing with excitement. Settling onto my knees and facing the back of the car, I watch out the window at the shrinking sight of Negan’s house as we speed down the street. _I can’t wait to get away from here_. From my vantage point, I glance down into the backseat and smile widely at the sight I’m met with. Nestled amidst several random articles of clothing and Negan’s beloved spiked bat sits a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels. Gripping the neck, I pull the bottle out and twirl around to sink back into the seat.

“A celebratory drink,” I announce dramatically as I twist the cap off and raise the bottle of sloshing amber liquid with a flourish. “To us. Because nothing says endless love like multiple murders.” I tip the bottle up at a sharp angle and take a substantial gulp; the alcohol leaves a fiery trail as it slips down my throat and into my belly while I hear Negan chuckling beside me. Wiping my moist lips across the back of my hand, I can’t help laughing at what we’ve become. 

“Running away while under possible suspicion for murder,” I scoff. “We’re just a regular 21st century Bonnie and Clyde, huh?” 

“Hey, I’m all about the fairytale, baby,” Negan retorts with a relaxed laugh. 

Glancing out the window, I take another swig of whiskey and watch as the houses whip by, an amalgamated blur of barely visible colors in the darkness of the late hour. The car races down the street, weaving through the neighborhood with Negan paying absolutely no mind to the speed limit. He reaches over to wrap a strong hand around my thigh and pull me closer as he turns onto the highway and speeds up, causing the revving engine to roar loudly. 

I let out an obnoxious laugh when I realize what song is playing faintly on the radio. Reaching out, I turn the stereo knob to crank the volume. I sing along softly with the classic 80’s anthem about steel horses and wanted cowboys. Laughing together at the irony of the crooned lyrics, Negan and I share a look before emphatically belting the words in a dissonant, off-key duet. 

The alcohol coursing through my veins loosens my inhibitions, prompting an inclination to scoot ever closer to Negan’s warm body. I press my soft lips to his stubbled cheek before making my way down to suck lightly at the sensitive skin of his neck. His masculine scent clouds my senses as I trail wet kisses over every inch of his jaw, neck, and throat I can reach from my position. Extending my arm, I skim my fingers along his chest and over the faint lines of his muscled stomach. The hand Negan has draped around my thigh tightens almost imperceptibly and he puffs out a harsh breath of warm air, letting me know that my attentions are getting to him. 

The risky thrill of turning Negan on while he’s driving emboldens my actions and I reach down to toy with his belt buckle. At the restless shifting of his hips, I undo his belt and lower his zipper as I wiggle a deft hand inside his slacks. Wrapping my fingers around his hardening shaft, my small fingers just barely meet as my hand surrounds his girth. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel causing the leather to creak slightly under his strength. I bite my lip at the deep moan that rumbles in Negan’s chest, the sound provoking a dampness between my thighs. 

“Easy there, darlin’,” he warns. “You keep that up and I’m gonna pull this car over and do all sorts of nasty fuckin’ things to you.” His cautioning words do nothing to deter me, but rather elicit further action as I pump my fist up and down slowly along his stiff cock. 

After teasing Negan for several agonizing minutes, I further unzip his pants to remove his throbbing length. He releases another shaky breath as he watches me lick my lips and give him a scheming smile. Leaning forward, I’m just about to take him into my mouth as I catch a flashing red and blue light from the corner of my eye. _Fuck_. I shoot up to a seated position and nearly laugh at the sight of Negan hastily – albeit gently – trying to shove his massive erection back into his pants. I almost feel bad for him, but realizing we are likely being pulled over because my distraction caused him to drive erratically, I feel little sympathy for his lack of control. 

“ _Shit_ ,” I hear Negan hiss as he drags a hand through his slicked back hair in a gesture of distress. He shoots me a derisive look while shaking his head with a snort. “Fuckin’ minx.” 

I shift nervously in my seat as Negan directs the car to the shoulder of the road and slowly eases to a stop. With the pulsing colored lights reflecting off the rearview mirror and illuminating the interior of the car, we sit and wait in silence. The light rapping against the window causes me to jump and turn my attention toward Negan as he lowers the automatic window. Hearing a similar tap on my own window, I roll it down to find a second officer gracing my side of the car. 

“Evenin’ officer,” Negan drawls slowly. I roll my eyes at his smarmy tone, bracing myself for his inevitable attempt to smooth talk his way out of a ticket. It would take little effort from him; the man could charm the panties off a nun and the birds from the trees if he were so inclined. 

Shining a blinding flashlight into the car, the officer doesn’t respond to Negan’s greeting. “License and registration,” he drones, undoubtedly bored of the repetitious phrase. Negan hands over the required documents as both officers return to the cruiser parked behind us. I can feel the tension mounting in the car, though I try to keep calm so as not to appear suspicious in any way. 

“Negan Giovanzo?” The strident voice startles me, as I hadn’t heard the officer reapproach the window. When Negan confirms his identity, the officer speaks again. “Step out of the car for me, sir.” I furrow my brow at the request, wondering what had prompted it. As far as I know, Negan has no criminal record – at least not one that he hasn’t already paid someone to wipe clean – and there are no current warrants out for his arrest. The next monotonously spoken words that fall from the officers lips cause my chest to constrict painfully. 

“You’re under arrest for the murders of Vito Giovanzo and Syrus Berman,” the officer declares as he fastens a pair of steely handcuffs around Negan’s wrists. When Negan goes to turn toward the officer, he’s pushed roughly against the hood of the Impala and I immediately shift into action. Throwing open the door, I step from the car with the intention of rounding the front fender to intervene. Before I take more than a few steps, I feel a hand wrap around my upper arm. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I snarl in the direction of the second officer. Fear digs it’s icy claws into me as I approach and address the officer holding Negan down and begin ranting. “You can’t fucking arrest him. What are the charges? On what grounds? With what evidence?” Hearing the crazed and desperate tone of my own voice, I’m not surprised when I hear Negan’s soft command for me to relax and back off; not that I have any intention of heeding his warning. 

“Ma'am, I need you to step back,” the officer warns, holding up a defensive hand in my direction. “Don’t come any closer or you’ll be placed under arrest as well.” 

When the officer standing behind me grabs at my arm again, Negan lifts his now grime-covered torso from the hood of the car to yell at my assailant before the side of his face is slammed back down against the dirty surface. “Take it easy with the goods there, pal,” he gripes sarcastically. At the sight of the officer being so heavy-handed, I step forward to feebly try to push his hands off Negan. In my hazy brain, my usual logic and common sense have evidently taken a hike, leaving me to my own devices and letting me believe that my aggressive actions towards the officers are going to benefit me in any way. 

Caught up in a panic, I start to push more roughly against the officer pinning Negan down, screaming at him in refusal to accept that Negan is to be arrested. The officer’s partner yanks both my arms behind my back, dragging me away from the Impala and further down the side of the road. Between Negan’s arrest and the feeling of the stranger’s hands on my skin and holding me back, I go into a frenzy. Flailing wildly, I fight with all my strength to free myself from the policeman’s grasp. When I land a rough kick against his shin, he lets up just enough for me to escape. As I rapidly approach the officer leading Negan toward the back door of the squad car, he turns and draws his gun, warning me to stay back. 

“ _Izzie_ , calm the fuck down,” Negan yells with barely restrained anger at seeing the danger I am putting myself in. Frustrated and afraid, my eyes fill with tears and I reach up to pull my hands desperately through my hair. I pace a few feet away, back and forth on the pavement, barely gathering myself as I beg the officer to let me talk to Negan before he takes him away from me. 

When the officer finally relents, I throw myself at Negan and wrap my arms around his neck. I press my face tightly against his chest and let the tears roll down my face. “I’m sorry,” I sob pathetically against his disheveled shirt. Once again, this is all my fault. Negan is being arrested for something I’d done. 

I have no idea how this happened, but I can’t let him take responsibility for a crime I’ve committed. I feel Negan press a soft kiss to the top of my head before whispering faintly into my ear. “You do _not_ say a word to anyone, okay? I’ll figure this out.” Hearing his warning, I lift my tear-soaked face to look in his eyes and nod gently. 

The officer beside us informs me that they have to take Negan to the police station which triggers further, more intense crying from me. Standing on my toes to lay a hard kiss on Negan’s lips, I cling desperately to his suit jacket as the officer drags him away. My knees nearly give out when Negan is forced into the backseat of the police car. The one thing I have in my life – the one thing I let myself love – is being torn from my hands right before my eyes. I cover my mouth with a shaking hand to muffle my sobs as the officers climb into the car and drive away. 

I stand motionless along the edge of the deserted highway for a long moment, crying inordinately, before trudging slowly to the driver’s seat of the Impala. Slamming the door shut, I pull my phone out and call Desi, hastily explaining the situation and asking him to meet me at the police department. Turning the key in the ignition, I veer the car back onto the highway and head for the station, tears blurring my vision as I drive speedily along the empty road. 

My tears of despair quickly turn to tears of anger – at myself and at every fucked up thing that has happened to me. I’d been through enough shit in my life and I’ve had enough; I’m not letting anything get in the way of the happiness I so gravely deserve. I am _not_ going to let the universe fuck me over anymore, not without a fight. The only way Negan will be taken away from me is over my dead body.


	32. Like An Outlaw For You

Desi is already standing outside the police department when I pull into the parking lot, which surprises me as I was much closer to the station when I called him. Leaning against the exterior of the brick building, he waits for me to approach once he spots me exiting the car. I stride over to him quickly and he looks down at me with a sympathetic expression.

“It’s gonna be okay, babes,” he soothes. His comforting words send me into another installment of tears and he pulls me into his chest to rub my back in a calming gesture. After a few minutes, I take a deep breath and extract myself from Desi’s embrace. Giving him a watery smile, I wait while he reaches out to open the glass door and we head inside the police station. 

Entering the lobby, I walk up to the desk to ask the officer seated behind it about Negan’s whereabouts. He requests my name as well as the names of the arresting officers before informing me that the lieutenant will be out shortly to give me any further information about Negan. After being dismissed, I take a seat in one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs beside Desi. He wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close as we wait anxiously to find out about Negan’s fate. 

“Ms. Moretti?” a soft female voice calls. Raising my head, my eyes fall upon a young uniformed officer approaching from a doorway on the opposite side of the room. Standing and taking several steps, I meet her in the middle of the room as she extends a petite hand in my direction. “I’m Lieutenant Alex Quinn, if you’ll come with me I can give you some information regarding Mr. Giovanzo.” At the utterance of her name, I realize that I recognize her as someone I’d gone to school with as a teenager. _At least she made something of her life, unlike me_. 

Trailing behind the lieutenant, I follow her into her office and take a seat. She sits down as well and begins to shuffle through a thick folder of documents. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Negan was arrested on suspected murder charges,” she begins. Already riled up and emotional, I throw all social graces out the window and immediately interrupt. 

“And again I’ll ask…on what grounds?” I defend. “He was never questioned or anything. There’s no evidence. But no one seems to have an answer for me as to why you arrested him." 

Lieutenant Quinn lifts her gaze to stare at me with little emotion on her face. "We received an anonymous tip from a witness, claiming that they’d seen Negan at the crime scene the night of the murders. And another tonight to let us know that he was leaving town.” My hackles raise at the accusatory tone of her next statement. “You know that if he’s guilty, you can be charged with accessory after the fact, correct?" 

"He’s not guilty,” I stress. “As convenient as your anonymous tip was, it’s total bullshit.” Lieutenant Quinn regards me silently, contemplating my adamant tone for a moment before I prod further. “Where’s Negan?” 

“If he’s finished being processed and booked, he’ll remain here in a holding cell until a bail hearing or trial date is set,” she offers. 

Upon hearing that, I promptly request, “I want to see him.” I stand from my seat and head for the door and back out into the hallway. I have no idea where the holding cells are in the building, but I am damn sure going to find them. 

“Izzie, you can’t see him until after the hearing,” Quinn warns. I whirl around to face her and step closer as I see another officer approaching from the corner of my eye. 

"I just wanna go in there and make sure he’s okay,” I counter. 

“He’s not allowed any visitors.” My anger snowballs at her stubborn refusal to let me see Negan. 

“C'mon, this is bullshit!” I yell loudly, throwing my hands up in exasperation. 

Uselessly trying to calm me down, Lieutenant Quinn tells me I’ll be allowed to speak to Negan’s lawyer tomorrow, but still won’t be allowed to see him. My control finally snaps as I mutter a harsh insult under my breath and march determinedly toward the back of the building, hoping I’m headed in the right direction. 

“Whoa hey, wait a minute,” I hear Quinn calling from behind me. “That’s enough, Izzie, c'mon. Just _hang on_.” I pass an officer sitting at a desk and – with alcohol still clouding my judgement and good sense – when he stands up to grab my shoulder and stop me, I reflexively lash out at him and catch his jaw with a brutal right hook. 

“Alright, that’s it!” Quinn barks as she restrains my arms and slaps a pair of cuffs on my wrists. With a firm hand on my shoulder, she steers me down a hallway. Signalling the guard to buzz her in, she swings open a slotted gate to lead me down a cinder block hall lined with a handful of cells. At the sound of a second buzz, she slides a door open, pushing me into one of the cells before removing my cuffs and stomping out with a huff. Before I can turn around to look out from my cell, the echo of a familiar voice reaches my ears. 

“How’s it goin’?” Negan ponders with a deadpanned voice. 

I cross my arms over my chest defiantly as I twirl as slowly as possible. Shifting my eyes around nervously before meeting his gaze, I see Negan in the cell across the hall, hunched in a seated position on the edge of the bed in his cell. I’m not sure if his facial expression is dumbfounded or angry; perhaps a combination of the two. 

“Okay,” I respond casually with a shrug of my shoulders. “Just, uh, yanno, thought I’d come by and say hi. So… _hi_.” 

Negan stares at me in amazement with raised eyebrows for a long moment before snorting out a laugh. “You crazy bitch, what the _hell_ am I gonna do with you?” 

Relieved that he isn’t angry with me, I give him a small, sheepish smile. I sit down on the bed in my cell and cross my legs as we speak from either side of the narrow hall. When Negan asks me what I’d done to get myself arrested, I rub at the back of my neck nervously. 

“Um, I punched a cop in the face,” I mumble, looking down at my sore knuckles before glancing up to meet his eyes. At his look of disapproval, I immediately feel the need to defend myself. “They wouldn’t let me see you, and I had to know you were okay. I needed to see you.” 

“Shit, my girl’s got some teeth,” Negan gloats. “I think I like it when you’re all violent and protective, doll.” I giggle at the Cheshire grin painting his face before I remember the severity of the situation. 

“I don’t want you to go away, Negan,” I admit solemnly as I fidget anxiously. “I wanna be with you.” I wring my hands nervously at my open honesty. _Damn him for making me talk about my feelings again_. 

Negan’s smile fades as he regards me seriously from across the hall. “Seems like the state has other ideas, darlin’.” 

“Those charges are bullshit,” I retort. “I’m gonna find a way to prove it. The lieutenant said they got an anonymous tip, they don’t actually have a reliable source. They have no evidence,” I assure him, managing to stop myself just before adding _and we know it_ ; not finding it appropriate to implicate myself smack dab in the middle of a police station. 

“I hope you’re right, Izzie,” Negan utters softly. My eyes mist at the uncertainty weighing on his voice. I can’t let him go down for this. _How blasphemous it would be for a notorious mob boss to be taken down for a crime he didn’t even commit_. If one of us is going to be held responsible for the murders, it will be me. I _am_ responsible after all. 

We fall quiet after that, both of us savoring one another’s company, not knowing if these moments together will be our last. I’m not sure how long the silence stretches before the loud buzzing and clanging of the opening gate echoes down the hallway. I look up as a guard opens the gate to my cell, informing me that I’m free to go. Rising from the bed, I step out of the cell and immediately cross the hallway to stand outside Negan’s cell. He steps up to the bars, threading his long arms through the steel beams to cradle my head in his hand. He pulls me closer and leans down to press his forehead against mine as much as he can through the bars of the cell. 

“Remember, don’t talk to anyone. Not a word. Not even to Desi,” he reminds me. I nod my head in his grasp, ready to do anything he asks just to keep him safe. “I spoke to my lawyer already and I’m havin’ him let some of my guys know to come watch over you at the house while I’m gone.” I look up to meet his eyes, appreciative of his effort to keep me safe. I want to ask how long he’ll be gone, but I already know he has no idea; he probably isn’t even sure whether or not he can get out of this. 

With a prodding from the guard to leave the hall, I reach up to where Negan’s hands still bracket my face and wrap my hands around his wrists. “I love you,” I whisper lowly. A devious smirk graces his face and I already regret speaking the words. 

“What? I didn’t catch that,” he taunts with a smirk. “You’re gonna have to speak up.” I roll my eyes at his teasing as he presses his lips against my forehead. “I love you, Izzie,” he expresses resolutely before urging me to go home. 

Walking out of the hall and past all the officers within the building, I pass through the waiting room and find Desi still seated there. He instantly stands at the sight of my approaching form, a look of worry blanketing his face. 

“The fuck did you do?” he interrogates icily. I explain the situation to him and he quickly relaxes before laughing. “Holy shit, you’re just as crazy as that bastard,” he chuckles. 

I let Desi know that Negan is okay and that we have no course of action except to wait. As we walk side by side out the door and into the cool night air, I hear a voice calling my name. I spin to find Lieutenant Quinn jogging quickly toward me. I tell Desi I’ll be okay and insist that he head home. 

“Can we talk for a second?” Quinn asks, hardly out of breath from her exertion. I nod my head and spot a bench nearby, heading over to take a seat. Sitting next to me, Quinn speaks lowly. “I have some information I think you’ll find useful.” 

I regard her with interest before imploring her to continue. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, hell, I could lose my job for it,” she explains, “but you should know it’s not likely that Negan can be charged on an anonymous tip alone. They’re going to be looking for more solid evidence.” I nod my head slowly, not understanding why Quinn was telling me something I already know. 

“There’s a R.I.C.O. case pending against Negan’s branch of the organization.” My shocked expression doesn’t stop her flow of words. “It’s been ongoing for awhile, the FBI have an informant deeply embedded within the family. They have years of inside information and recorded crimes, they’ve just been waiting for the right time to implement a sting operation and blow it up. That means they must have something substantial if they’ve brought Negan in only on suspicion; it isn’t just bullshit. The fact that they haven’t charged him yet just means that they’re waiting on their informant to bring forward solid evidence to convict Negan.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” I question, unsure of her motives. 

“I just want you to be aware that someone around you is working for the other side, so be careful who you trust. As long as the informant has no way to undoubtedly prove Negan’s involvement in the crime, they won’t be able to incarcerate him. Maybe on all the smaller infractions they’ve gathered from the past, but it won’t be anywhere near as major as the charges they’re going after with this case,” she states, pausing shortly before continuing. 

“I know the pain you’ve suffered because of those men, Izzie. I’ve had my own personal issues that the organization helped me out with…serious shit. I know things go smoother for everybody if we work together. Plus, everyone deserves a little vindicated justice.” With that last cryptic statement, Quinn rises from the bench and returns to the building. _Was she aware of my history with the two men? Did she know I’d killed them?_

I remain seated for several minutes, my head absolutely spinning at how this night has played out. The FBI is dead set on bringing Negan down and I feel absolutely powerless to stop it. I have to find out who their informant is, but I have no idea where to even begin. I personally hadn’t talked to anyone about anything that had transpired, though I recall all the men Negan had met with in his office recently. _Had he revealed our crimes directly to the informant? Did he confide in someone we can’t trust?_ I debate whether I should let Negan know that there is a traitor among him, but I realize I have no logical way to explain to him how I know about said informant; at least not an explanation that he will believe, not that I can blame him. 

Standing from the bench I climb back into Negan’s car and speed out of the parking lot. The whole way home, I allow Quinn’s words to rattle around my head. I decide I’m going to enlist Desi’s help to flush out the snitch and save Negan from being wrongly accused of my crimes. I figure with the effort Negan put into covering our tracks, as long as he’s cleared of the charges, there’s no evidence to convict me and we’ll be okay. I’m enraged and indignant on Negan’s behalf that someone he trusted has betrayed him so severely. Whoever had done so is going to pay for trying to steal my one happiness from me. _Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned_.


	33. The Uninvited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Y’all. My great friend Andrea (who is an absolute fuckin’ gem) wrote this lil’ sidestory for me, written in the perspective of the FBI investigator questioning Negan. She inadvertently shattered the writer’s block I had going into the next few chapters, so I decided to include her work as a chapter in the story because it fit in so perfectly. So, here it is!

***Agent Angela Stahl’s POV***

Being on the force for upwards of 7 years, I’d seen about all there is to see. People who’d burned down houses, stabbed someone with a kitchen knife, hit their spouse with a car, other crazy shit. But this particular instance has me in a cold sweat. I’d heard Negan’s name around the prisons before, from inmates and staff alike. A few men serving over 25 years were here because they risked their lives or took someone else’s to do good by Negan. They were the top dogs in their cell-blocks, even without the armed protection the mob was notorious for having, but all the other inmates knew that being behind bars wouldn’t protect them. Somehow, word always got out when someone crossed the wrong person and there were almost always deadly consequences. 

As I gather my paperwork, I know I have no concrete evidence to take him down, but I have a dull hope that I’ll still be able to make him crack. I leaf through my relatively short stack of anonymous tips and previous infractions we’d gathered on this mob tycoon. I don’t understand why we’ve been covering for him all this time. Sure, he could take some of us out without anyone saying a word, but couldn’t we destroy his whole organization from the inside out; promising immunity to a few members? I suppose that wouldn’t prevent anyone from lying or setting us up, but I can’t help thinking there _is_ a way. 

I lazily slide my gun into my holster as I think of how to approach this man; I have a knife in my waistband, just in case. I take a final deep breath before reluctantly walking down the hall towards the interrogation room where Negan is being held, my short heels clicking and echoing down the hallway with each step. I make each one count, knowing he can hear me coming and hoping he’ll sense confidence and consistency in my stride. 

A chill rushes up my spine as I peer through the two-way mirror. There he is; the man himself. Cuffed to the metal table from either side, he somehow seems to be sitting comfortably. Bruises on his cheekbones are visible and a few small cuts have accumulated dried blood on his face. A favor, I assume, granted by the police responsible for bringing him in. His hair is slicked back, his arms nicely filling out the orange jumpsuit he was fitted with. I find it odd that he’d already been imprisoned here rather than at the local station, as he hadn’t actually been charged with anything just yet; that’s why I am here. Still, they seemed to have prepared him for at least some length of a stay. With the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, I can see his forearms adorned with beautifully illustrated tattoos. I can’t quite make them out, but I’m not about to ask him what they are. This is one inmate I know I can’t let myself get caught up in; he is a monster as far as I am concerned, and I need to remind myself of that. I take another deep breath before placing my hand on the doorknob and letting myself in. 

“Hello, Mr. Giovanzo, my name is Angela Stahl. I’m here to ask you a few questions about the crime we received anonymous tips on.” I close the door behind me, almost feeling like I’ve just locked myself in a cage with an angry lion. 

As soon as I speak, his eyes draw shut slowly and reopen as he spins his head leisurely in my direction. He looks me up and down and I pray he can’t see the tension and anxiety behind my eyes. He is a lot larger now that I’m in the room with him, but I inhale, puffing out my chest slightly and fixing my posture so I hold myself higher. He sees this and chuckles to himself. 

“Something amusing to you, sir?” I bark accusingly. I know I have to be sharp with him if this is going to go anywhere. 

“Just a bit sweetheart, seems you’re a little tense. I could take care of that if you’d like,” he drawls. 

I feel a heat forming deep in my stomach; whether it is lust or anger, I can’t tell. _Is this asshole actually hitting on me? And wasn’t that his girlfriend that came in here and threw a fit when he was initially apprehended? Whatever._ I’m not letting this distract me from why I’m here. 

I narrow my eyes as I speak to him a second time. “As I said, I have a few questions for you. Where were you the night affiliates Vito Giovanzo and Syrus Berman were murdered?” 

He stares blankly at me, and I wish I had more to go on. I normally have photographs I could lay out in front of a perpetrator that would make them shake or widen their eyes, like they knew they were fucked. All I have is the phone record from our anonymous caller and our short list of other misdemeanors we caught him in the act of. I keep those in my small folder for the time being, I’d bring them out soon enough. 

“I’m not sure I know what you’re askin’ of me, doll. I was at home for most of that night, with the exception of hittin’ the liquor store. Such a shame, those two men always got in over their heads. Finally bit ‘em in the ass, huh?” Negan chuckles after his statement, as if this is a laughing matter. 

“As it turns out, unfortunately for you, someone seems to have a different story to tell. We had a call from someone that places _you_ at the scene of the crime. Given your known history, do you really think that’s such an outrageous accusation?” I implore. 

I’m sitting across from him now, knowing this in itself might be too close. He rests his elbows on the table and links his fingers together as he leans in towards me without breaking eye contact. The chains on his handcuffs clink against the table as he moves. Another chill jolts down my spine. 

“All due respect Ms. Stahl, you have no idea what my history is. Toss out that leaflet you wanna call evidence and I _guarantee_ you know nothing more than the rumors swimmin’ around in this shithole and the immediate opinion you formed when you saw me. Listen, I don’t wanna make this any more complicated than it needs to be, so why don’t we get this over with so we can both get back to our lives?” As he finishes, he leans back in his chair, again making himself comfortable. 

I am slightly intimidated by him now; he’s too certain that we don’t have anything on him, but I want to see him rot in here regardless. Maybe I let my anger and emotions get the best of me; I stand up and join him on his side of the table and slam down my admittedly small amount of evidence in front of him. As his gaze moves from the papers up my body to meet my eyes again, I easily see why people want to accommodate his needs. He is extremely threatening, but stunning. I maintain eye contact, hoping to gain the upper hand. 

I open the folder, allowing him to read the transcription of the phone call we received. He breaks his gaze and looks down at the papers, I hope this is a sign of him backing down. As he reads, I speak quietly. “Now, tell me. Why exactly would someone lie about a situation like this? You were obviously the head honcho for a long time. And unless there’s someone you crossed along the way, all your cronies would’ve covered for you.” Negan chuckles again, and this time I make my irritation evident on my face. I purse my lips and furrow my brows. 

“Heh, _cronies_? What the fuck is this, an episode of Scooby Doo?” He begins as he leafs through the papers and reorganizes them before looking back at me. “I already told you darlin’, I don’t know why this situation would arise other than someone knew I was tryin’ to get away from this life and envied me for it. I wanna leave it behind me and that’s the God’s honest truth.” 

As he becomes more evasive, my desire to destroy him becomes unbearable. I turn my head to the upper corner of the room where a surveillance camera is relatively well hidden. I didn’t know if Negan had seen it initially, but he would know it's there now. 

“Turn off the camera.” I state flatly, as the green blinking light changes to red and then dies out. I know there is no one on the other side of the mirror, so at this point I can try anything; although I’m certain physical force wouldn’t help me now. I turn my head back to Negan and lean in close to his face, with one hand on the table and the other gripping the back of his chair. 

“Enough fucking around. You can admit what you’ve done _now_ , or let us hold you here for weeks on end until someone has enough balls to come forward with the evidence necessary to incarcerate you for life. Even admitting you were involved in any way whatsoever will cut down on your sentence and allow us to move the _fuck_ on. Don’t be an asshole about this, Negan.” I thought using a first name basis now may intimidate him or make him assume I’m more familiar with him than he initially believed; and I am hoping the strong language I sprinkled in would assure him I’m not messing around. 

Although our faces are already close, he repositions himself so we’re directly facing each other and a shit eating grin spreads across his face as he speaks. “That’s a bit of crude language for a little lady like yourself, ain’t it? You don’t wanna get yourself in trouble there, sweetheart." 

I can tell he is toying with my emotions and before he gets any further than he already has, I tightly shut my eyes and sigh heavily out my nose. I slowly stand up, running my fingers through my hair and returning to my own side of the table, but I stay on my feet. I pause for a moment, before slowly pacing back and forth while trying to think of a way we can come to an agreement, but still ensure he will be locked up. I turn to face him once more, and place both hands on the back of the chair I had been sitting in. 

"What if you give me a name, anyone else that could’ve done this or could’ve been involved? We could cut down your sentence and a confession now might prevent them from pursuing this case any further and burying you deeper.” I’m almost certain this is an opportunity he would jump at or at least consider. He has his hands on his lap now, and he’s relaxed. I wonder how he can be so goddamn confident even when the minor infractions we have are enough to keep him here for a while; let alone the fact that we’ve now accused him of murdering two people. 

I’m given an answer when I see him smile grimly and move his right hand down, hearing several sharp clinks against the leg of the table. At first I think he’s just tapping his handcuffs, amusing himself and having more fun than he already is. Then it strikes me. The object he is hitting the table with is much more solid than our aluminum handcuffs. _He has my fucking gun_. Initially, I question myself; I’ve been doing this for years and nothing like this had ever happened before. I then remember how preoccupied I was with approaching this mountain of a man that I hadn’t made sure my holster was secure. I probably hadn’t even closed the clip around it; it was too fucking easy for him to take my weapon right out of my hands, so to speak. I feel the blood rush from my face as my mind frantically looks for a solution. _Surely he wouldn’t kill me…would he?_

“Alright, we both need to be calm here.” I state, knowing my voice is shaking but not giving a shit. _Am I going to die?_

“Oh, I’m happy as a clam over here, darlin’.” Negan rings out, his voice full of glee. I patiently wait for him to speak again, I know this isn’t the time to be snarky. “Now, this can go a few ways. One, I can blow your brains out right now and whoever is on the other side of that mirror will get a pretty fancy show. Two, you can try to take it back from me. I’ll still get the upper hand, you gotta know that by now, hm?” He speaks calmly as if he’s ordering coffee; sitting lazily, grinning all the while. “Or three, we come to an agreement as you so lovingly suggested before, but we do it on _my_ terms.” 

“You know I can’t just let you walk out of here.” I practically whimper, letting out a small smile hoping he will give me the benefit of the doubt. I hear him cock the gun, and I know my plea for cooperation has been ignored and denied. 

“Oh, but you can. I don’t have to kill you now, I can write out an I.O.U. if you’d like. Once I’m out, even being that I’ve all but handed this business over to someone else, I’ve still got connections. Could be a week from today, maybe a year. You’ll be walking to your car after a long day at work, and suddenly… _BAM_!” The sudden change in the volume of his voice makes me visibly jump; he has me in the palm of his hand. “See, _now_ we’re talkin’!” He exclaims, knowing I have nowhere to go. 

I pause and wipe my clammy hands on the sides of my pants. “Can I have a minute alone?” I practically beg, knowing I have virtually no way out of this, but hoping I can find a loophole if I have a moment of solitude. 

“Ah, ah, ah. You tryin’ to trick me, sweetheart? 'Cause if you come back with anyone but yourself, you’ll all be buried together.” Still speaking calmly, this threat makes my eyes tear up. I assure him I will return alone, and that I can even stand directly outside the door in front of the small window, where he can see me. 

He nods slowly and as I walks away, he finds it necessary to confirm my commitment to our agreement. 

“Behave yourself now little girl, you don’t wanna know what the consequences are for not doin’ what I say.” I stop moving for a second and nod my head, now gradually inching towards the door. I let myself out and after closing the door behind me, I lean against it, making sure my head is visible to Negan. A few tears stream down my face as I try to calm my thoughts. I can hear Negan whistling to himself inside the room. _What the fuck am I going to do?_


	34. Look What The Cat Dragged In

It’s been over a week since I’ve seen another human being. Following the night Negan was arrested, I’d locked myself up in his house and hidden away from the world. Periodically through each day, I see and hear cars coming and going as the men Negan tasked as my sentries switch shifts. I hadn’t bothered to interact with any of them, not really seeing a need to make friends. I feel safe enough with them watching over me, though that doesn’t stop me from methodically checking all the locks on every door each day.

The last contact I had with anyone was earlier this morning when I’d spoken on the phone with Negan’s lawyer. Due to the severity of his pending charges, the judge had decided to forego a bail hearing, opting instead to move Negan to a prison upstate where he is being held until the authorities can produce some sort of evidence to prove his guilt. With the notoriety and importance of Negan’s case, it quickly made it’s way to the District Attorney’s desk where it was determined that Negan would remain in custody while the FBI compiled any evidence to back the murder charges. If they failed to do so, they’d been instructed to release Negan on bail and set a date to put him on trial for any of the lesser crimes and misdemeanors they had against him. I couldn’t believe that the DA had made an exception for this case and was allowing the state to unlawfully imprison Negan without ample evidence or any actual charges. _Innocent until proven guilty, my ass_. 

While the news didn’t exactly thrill me, it was an utter relief that Negan’s fate could possibly be far less dismal than initially expected. I’m not sure how much time the FBI has been allotted to provide a more substantial case against Negan, but they hadn’t found anything yet during the past week or so and I have my fingers crossed that it’ll stay that way. 

As far as I can tell, Negan – as well his lawyer and most every other person involved with the case – is blissfully unaware of the pending FBI sting that is being planned. Negan’s lawyer assured me that when Negan is released on bail, the feds would have no solid proof for any other crime to charge him with; though based on Lieutenant Quinn’s words of warning, I know that isn’t _quite_ true. If Negan is set to be tried for other crimes, the FBI’s informant would have more than enough to put him away for a very long time. Somehow – even with his many connections and corrupt methods – Negan’s lawyer had no idea the storm that is heading for the imprisoned mob boss. 

I’ve kept in constant contact with Negan’s lawyer, as he is my only source of updates since Negan had been given absolutely no visitation or phone privileges. It was through him that I learned Negan is meeting with a federal investigator this afternoon; likely a last desperate attempt to draw out a confession or make a deal since their efforts to nail Negan for murder have been fruitless thus far. Glancing at the clock, I realize the interrogation is probably already underway if not yet finished. I wonder how long I’ll have to wait for the lawyer’s call informing me of the outcome of the get-together. 

Coincidentally, the moment the thought crosses my mind, the shrill ringing of my cellphone breaks the silence in the room. Quickly picking up the call, anxiety clenches my stomach at the sound of the lawyer’s voice on the other end. I listen intently as he relays what little information he’s gathered from Negan’s meeting with the investigator. I nearly sob in relief at the report that the DA had preemptively scheduled a bail hearing for Negan, expecting the FBI’s efforts of finding evidence to fall short. _Guess that interrogation went pretty well for him_. The hearing is set for two days from now and as I hang up the phone, I find myself praying to any god willing to listen that the coming days will prove unsuccessful for the bureau and Negan will make it back home to me unscathed. 

Remembering that I haven’t seen or spoken to Desi since the night at the police department, I dial his number to tell him my cautiously optimistic news. The phone rings and rings before his voicemail picks up and I frown slightly, not bothering to leave a message. I wonder where Desi could be and refuse to let myself worry in any way that something may have happened to him. _He’s probably just busy_. Giving up on my attempt to contact Desi, I toss my phone onto the table and resign myself to finding something to occupy my remaining alone time. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

The days pass painfully slow, but _finally_ it’s the morning of Negan’s hearing. I’d been informed that it was in my best interest not to attend the hearing, so I sit alone in Negan’s house, solitary and anxious. I’d barely gotten a wink of sleep last night, too wound up and nervous for my body to relax. Deciding I could do with some rest and wanting something to make the day go by faster, I curl up on the couch to take a much needed nap. 

When I wake several hours later, I immediately grab my phone to see if I’d missed any messages from Negan’s lawyer. Seeing a text from him, I quickly unlock my phone to read the words. A huge smile paints my face at the update. Negan is getting out, he’s coming home. The lawyer had set up an appointment with a bail bondsman and once the payment is settled and processed, Negan will be released from prison and on his way home today. Sending a quick thank you text in return, I rise from the couch and head upstairs to change. I return to the first floor in record time, now dressed in a pretty but casual black dress. I traipse barefoot into the kitchen, planning to whip up a nice ‘welcome home’ meal for Negan. 

Getting deeply involved in my cooking and the rock song playing softly on the radio in the kitchen, I don’t register the sound of the front door unlocking. I sway my hips gently in time with the music as I stir a wooden spoon through a pot of boiling pasta. Behind me I hear a small creak across the floorboards, though I think nothing of it. I inhale sharply and nearly jump clear out of my skin at the softly growled string of words that bursts warmly down the back of my neck. 

“Mmm, smells good,” Negan declares lowly. With a hand clutched to my chest, I try to play off the fact that he’d scared me so easily. 

“It’s just spaghetti,” I respond casually. My lips part slightly when I feel Negan dragging his nose and lips along the top of my shoulder and up my neck, inhaling deeply as he goes. 

“I meant _you_ ,” he whispers hotly as his lips reach the shell of my ear. When I lean my head back against his shoulder, he chuckles deeply against my hair. “Missed you, baby.” His utterance draws the corner of my lips up in a small smile as I straighten and turn to regard him. Suddenly remembering how many days I’d spent worrying about him and not being able to see him, I step forward and wrap my arms tightly around his slim waist. I bury my face against the lapels of his suit jacket – not caring that it is the same filthy one he’d worn when he was arrested – and sigh deeply when I feel his sinewy arms envelop me. I shut my eyes in contentment when Negan threads a hand through my hair, massaging lightly as he presses my head closer to his chest. 

After a long moment, I break the silence. “What happened with the investigator? What made the judge decide to let you out?” I ponder, leaning my head back to look at Negan. 

“She wanted to offer me a deal,” Negan mutters. “Thought I was gonna throw someone else under the bus to save my own ass.” I know better than to ask if Negan had taken the traitorous deal, so I wait silently until he continues. “We made a deal, but on my terms. I’m a persuasive motherfucker and that bitch was a light touch. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy." 

At the sight of his smug smirk, I can’t help wondering what he’d done to get the investigator to swing his way and convince the DA to grant him release. “So what happens now? Even if they don’t charge you for the murders, they can get you on all the other stuff can’t they? Am I gonna lose you again, Negan?” I’m annoyed at my own desperate and needy tone. 

Finally looking down to meet my gaze, Negan releases a deep sigh. “I don’t wanna talk about this, Izzie. It is what it is, I’m out for the time being. Now,” he drawls, “I missed my woman, so how ‘bout a proper hello?” I feel myself instantly growing wet at his words as he pushes my back against the countertop. When he drags his fingertips slowly up the backs of my thighs and under the skirt of my dress, I clench my thighs together. 

Negan moves his hands higher to fit his thumbs into the waistband of my panties and drags them down my legs at a glacial pace. I bite down hard on my lip as he crouches down in front of me to pull my feet through my underwear and drop them to the floor. I close my eyes and throw my head back when he wraps a strong hand around each of my thighs and runs his scruff lightly up my inner leg. 

“You smell so good, baby,” he whispers huskily as he breathes in deeply. His lips drag up the length of my thighs with feather light pressure, brushing painfully close to my core. I lean back and brace my hands against the surface behind me, trying not to lose my balance. 

It catches me off guard when Negan stands up and quickly lifts me onto the counter. He immediately flips my skirt up over my waist and sets to placing wet kisses along the insides of my thighs. I moan lowly at his attentions and my moan nearly transforms to a scream when he places a kiss directly over my drenched center. Negan spreads my thighs widely as he licks several unhurried but firm strokes along the length of my swollen lips. I reach out to card my fingers through his thick hair, pulling at it occasionally. He alternates between licking, kissing, and sucking lightly at my folds, the relentless motions of his hot mouth driving me crazy. I feel my cheeks flush hotly when Negan spreads my lower lips and leans back to spit loudly, landing an abundant glob of saliva against my already soaked pussy. Using the copious lubrication, he plunges two long fingers into my core, prompting me to cry out and throw my head back wildly; the forceful movement unintentionally causes me to crack my skull off the upper cabinets situated behind me. 

At the reverberating sound of my head bouncing off the wood, Negan immediately straightens from his position, cradling my injured cranium in his large hands with an expression of concern. The deep look of worry on his face and the minor interruption coaxes a loud laugh from me. Upon hearing my laughter, Negan’s face splits into a grin as he joins me in reveling in the ridiculous situation. 

“Shit, if I was that bad you coulda just told me to stop instead of tryin’ to knock yourself out,” Negan chokes out through a heavy laugh, the wide smile that splits his lips accentuating his deep dimples. His comment sets off my own laughter again and it takes me several minutes to calm myself. 

Not letting the disruption stop me, I wrap my arms around Negan’s neck and press my lips firmly to his. That’s all it takes to get him to pick up where he left off as he drags me off the counter and drops me on my feet before spinning me around to bend me over. My hips twitch in anticipation at the jingling sound of his belt buckle. 

“This is gonna be hard and fast, babygirl. I need to be inside you.” That’s the only warning I receive as Negan thrusts his hips against mine, ramming his entire length into my body with a single thrust. The jolting motion and accompanying feeling of fullness triggers a hoarse scream that rips from my throat. As Negan pistons his hips with a steady and forceful rhythm, I feel the metal of his belt buckle digging into my ass, realizing he’d shifted his clothing only enough to shove his lengthy dick into me. 

Resting my head against the arm I have braced on the surface in front of me, I begin to pant heavily as my orgasm approaches. Sensing my impending climax, Negan shifts his feet to pound into me harder. He reaches beneath me to slide his skillful fingers against my throbbing clit, giving me the last little bit of stimulation I need to come apart. 

“ _Ohhh_ fuck,” I groan, unable to stop the pleading that passes my lips. “Don’t stop, Negan.“ 

"C’mon baby, cum for me,” Negan rasps harshly. At his prompting, my body squeezes around him; my orgasm setting of his own release of warmth that coats my insides. The kitchen is filled with the primal orchestra of our various growls and moans as we both come down from our highs. Negan leans over my body to press his sweaty forehead against the thin material covering my back, wrapping his arms loosely around my middle. We remain still connected until the chiming sound of the doorbell rings through the house, causing us to simultaneously grumble in displeasure. 

“I fucking forgot I invited Desi over for dinner,” I whine in exasperation as I hear Negan groan lowly in complaint. I know Desi would typically just walk into the house, but is only ringing the bell because the door is currently locked. I also know he has keys to the house so the locked door won’t stall him for very long. 

Negan finally pulls out from my body, the loss of his warmth accompanied by the slow trickle of our combined fluids between my legs. I reach over to grab a paper towel from the roll next to the sink before Negan stops me, handing me my discarded underwear as he speaks. 

“Put these back on,” he commands, moving closer to grab the back of my neck and growl his next words against my throat. “I wanna know my cum is drippin’ out of that tight little pussy while we’re sittin’ down eatin’ dinner.” 

My knees threaten to give out at his filthy words and I stand frozen to the spot for several moments before the sensation of Negan grabbing a handful of my ass brings me back to the present. He lifts his eyebrows, giving me an expectant look and I quickly slip my underwear back on with shaking hands and feel them soak through almost immediately. With my underwear back in place, Negan gives me a wink and slaps the round globe of my ass lightly. 

Not a second later, Desi come striding into the room, a smile adorning his face at the sight of us standing in the kitchen. I expect Negan to be more excited to see what I assume is his closest friend, so I find it odd when his face conveys no emotion at Desi’s arrival. He doesn’t move an inch, instead waiting for Desi to approach him with open arms. _Something is off_. 

Somewhat reluctantly accepting Desi’s embrace, Negan slaps a firm hand against his back and rubs methodically back and forth several times, his groping gesture so meticulous it’s almost as if he’s searching for something. When they separate, Negan places a hand in the center of Desi’s chest and pats several times in a seemingly fond motion as he moves to walk around him, announcing that he’s going upstairs to change. I find the gesture odd as – in the short time I’d known them – I’d never seen the two men show any sort of physical affection. Not to mention the fact that Negan had forthwith gone from cold and standoffish to warm and brotherly. _Something is definitely off_. The only explanation I can conjure is that Negan is still put off by Desi’s involvement with my taunting antics recently. Convincing myself that Negan’s strange behavior is residual jealousy and possessiveness, I greet Desi with a hug of my own and return to my cooking.


	35. Where Is Your Savior?

I finish setting the table, placing several plates and various dishes of food on the surface while Desi and I chat idly and wait for Negan’s return. We settle into our typical routine of bad jokes and obnoxious laughter as the sound of Negan’s heavy boots clomping down the stairs echoes through the other end of the house. I furrow my brow in question when the sound of his steps is followed by the opening and loud closing of the front door. _Where is he going?_

I glance at Desi and give him a shrug before telling him to wait in the dining room as I move to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of chilled white wine and some beers. I hear a banging from Negan’s office down the hall, something that sounds like a drawer being slammed shut with more force than necessary. When I close the fridge door, Negan appears at my side, now dressed in only a white t-shirt and the dark gray pants I’d come to love hugging his trim hips. He walks with purpose into the room and I notice he’s carrying his blood-stained baseball bat. I stare in confusion as he places it gently on the kitchen counter before turning to me with a distant expression upon his face. 

Seeing my slightly puzzled expression he explains simply, “Wanna clean her up after dinner.” Accepting his clipped answer, I spare one last look at the reddened weapon sat upon the counter and bite my tongue against the desire to comment on the fact that he’d left the filthy thing on a surface we use to prepare our food. _Totally sanitary_. 

We walk together to the dining room to join Desi at the table, a weird tension blanketing us in the room as we share in slow and quiet conversation. I find it strange that Desi’s mouth isn’t running a mile a minute like usual, however it’s Negan’s behavior that bothers me more. For the first time since I’ve known him, Negan sits in complete and total silence; a phenomenon that raises a big-ass red flag in the forefront of my mind. I don’t know whether he’s pissed at something or maybe just tired and not feeling very sociable, but the feeling of worry and anxiety gnaws at me with determination. My thoughts shift only when I look up to meet Negan’s eyes and I’m struck with an almighty heated look from him, no doubt in my mind that he’s thinking about the ever-present stickiness I can still feel between my thighs. _Okay, maybe he’s fine_. I squirm nervously in my seat when he licks his lips hungrily, and return my eyes to my plate. 

After several more awkward minutes, the stressful dinner that has me practically sweating is finally over. I stand to gather the plates and bring them to the kitchen while Negan and Desi grab their beers and head to the backyard. I place the armful of dirty dishes on the counter and wipe my hands on a dish towel before going to join the two men outside. When I reach the large stone patio, I see they’ve started a fire in the fire-pit centered on the terrace. I take a seat in one of the comfortable chairs circling the pit just as Negan stands silently and returns to the house. I watch his retreating back, curious as to where he’s going, but not curious enough to get up and find out. The instant Negan is out of earshot, Desi turns to speak to me in a rushed whisper. 

“Izzie, there’s something important I need to tell you,” he states seriously. “It’s about Negan, you’re in danger here with him.” Desi’s words flood my body with icy fear, but before he can explain any further, Negan returns; his bat, a tattered rag, and a bottle of isopropyl alcohol in hand. 

He perches himself in a chair and sets about cleansing the wooden surface of his bat methodically. I scratch at my arms nervously, practically tearing into the skin that’s itchy with anxiety over Desi’s vague revelation. I wonder for a moment whether I can get inside and signal to Desi to follow me without seeming suspicious, but I know Negan is far too perceptive to miss that. Especially considering how I’d previously flirted with Desi to make Negan jealous, it will never slip past him that we are alone together inside. _Fuck, what do I do?_ My mind is spiraling out of control with what possible danger could be hovering over me and why Negan is apparently the cause of it. Whatever it is, it seems to be pretty significant if Desi couldn’t wait until later to tell me. My thoughts are interrupted when Desi’s hesitant voice awkwardly breaks the silence. 

“Guess you don’t wanna leave any evidence on that thing now that those pigs are watchin’ you like a hawk, huh?” he jokes halfheartedly, nodding in the direction of Negan's bat. Negan slowly raises his gaze to Desi, a look of anger and disgust briefly flickering behind his eyes and across his face before he chuckles lowly. The noise is cold and devoid of all emotion and I feel goosebumps raise along my arms at the sound of it. Negan hadn’t even wanted to discuss the subject of his arrest and the government currently breathing down his neck with me earlier, so I figure that’s the cause of his stiff response to Desi bringing it up again. Things are growing so uncomfortable between the three of us that it is suffocating, I want to get away from the situation as soon as I possibly can. 

Seemingly sharing my feelings of discomfort, Desi clears his throat and moves restlessly in his seat across from Negan and myself. We share a look of concern and fear as Negan continues tending to his precious weapon in silence, blissfully unaware of the mounting suspense that is pressing around us. _My God, I am SUFFERING_. Just when I think my body is going to spontaneously combust from sheer stress, Desi speaks up and announces that he needs to head out as he rises from his seat. In a scuffling of noise and banging that happens so fast I almost don’t see it happen, it takes a moment for my mind to register what I’m seeing. 

Everything is a blur as Negan moves with extraordinary speed, throwing the bat from his lap with a clatter and fisting his hands into the front of Desi’s shirt. Before I can react, Negan yanks harshly against the material in his hands and brings Desi to his knees before using his strong arms to lift and drag him face-first into the blazing flames crackling in the pit. The sound of Desi’s blood-curdling howls of pain churns my stomach and I finally rise to my feet, shrieking in a wild panic. 

“What the _fuck_ , Negan?!” I scream. “Oh my god, _stop_!” My pleas go unheard as Negan holds Desi’s writhing body in the inferno for several more seconds before throwing him to the ground. The scent of singed flesh tickles my nostrils and I gag slightly at the offending odor. I watch in horror as the skin on Desi’s body bubbles gruesomely, blistering almost instantly; patches of bright red and blackened flesh mottle his face, neck, and arms. My mouth hangs open in stupefaction as I stand rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak. The only sounds filtering through the night air are Desi’s whimpers and Negan’s deep, angry breaths that cause his shoulders to heave up and down. 

Bending at the waist, Negan picks up his bat in one hand and wraps the other in the back of the collar of Desi’s shirt. “C'mon, let’s go talk, Des,” he snarls menacingly. As Negan pushes past me, dragging Desi’s moaning form inside, I can see his eyes are eerily empty and distant. When I’m alone outside, I remember Desi’s earlier warning. _Is this what he meant?_ I ponder. I think for a long moment what would prompt Negan to harm Desi in any way, unable to come up with an explanation other than he’d lost his damn mind. _He’s gonna kill us both_. 

For a second, I consider running for my life, but I don’t have it in me to leave Desi on his own with the raging beast Negan had turned into. Steeling my spine and straightening up with a deep breath of preparation, I swallow my fear and decide to help Desi. I spin quickly and return to the house, entering the kitchen just as Negan is looming over Desi's collapsed body, speaking harshly and spitting angrily with every word. 

“What did you say when I was gone?” he roars. “Did you fuckin’ tell her?” I have no clue what Negan is referring to, but whatever it is, Desi has no answer. Negan speaks in a deceptively calmer voice when he regards Desi again. “No? Well then, allow me to fill her in.” With that, Negan kicks out at Desi’s face, landing a blow on his jaw that crashes his teeth together loudly before striding irately from the room. 

With Negan gone, I drop to my knees and slide close to Desi. I reach out, my hands hovering above his charred skin because I have no idea how to even help him at this point. Tears fill my eyes at the sight of my friend shaking and groaning in intense pain. _How could Negan do this?_ I push any fear or regard for my own safety from my mind and I try to help Desi to his feet, desperate to get us away from here. I know it’s dangerous throwing myself directly into the war path, but I can’t let Negan kill someone I love, especially with no good reason. 

I struggle as I try to get a decent grip on Desi, not wanting to put pressure on his severe burns and cause him any unnecessary additional pain. I edge my shoulder just under Desi’s armpit and try with all my might to help him to his feet. I’ve barely dragged him more than a foot when I hear Negan come stomping back into the room. I turn to him with fear in my eyes as he slaps what looks like a maroon-colored folder onto the counter. Though I know it’s futile, I continue my effort to lift the dead weight of Desi’s ailing body. 

“Get the fuck away from him,” Negan calls out coldly. Based on the frigid tone of his voice, I know this moment is by far the most inopportune one for me to ignore a request from him, but I do it anyway. Gently lowering Desi back to the ground and settling him onto his knees, I throw an arm over his chest protectively and turn to Negan with tears streaming down my face. 

“Negan, please,” I beg shakily. “Don’t. Don’t hurt him.” A small hiccuping sob slips past my lips. 

Negan takes a single step closer, his eyes searing into me. “Get out of my fuckin’ way, Isabella,” he barks. More tears spill down my cheeks as I shake my head vehemently, disregarding his requests. 

I cower against Desi’s chest when Negan takes several more heavy steps toward us. I try to make myself as small as possible while still acting as a barrier between Desi and Negan. Standing up to Negan when he’s this pissed is beyond stupid, but I don’t care. I can’t let him hurt Desi any more than he already has. 

“I won’t tell you again. Get the _fuck_ out of my way. Do _not_ make me fuckin' hurt you,” Negan threatens. The utter lack of emotion in both his eyes and his voice absolutely terrifies me. I’ve always been under the impression that Negan would never intentionally hurt me, though I find myself questioning that belief now. The rage and severity behind his voice and actions is frightening and at this point, I’m completely unsure of what he’s capable of doing. 

I’m unable to stop the loud sobs that slip past my lips when Negan moves forward angrily and snatches my arm in his grasp. Using his grip on me, he spins around, taking me with him and dragging my bare knees painfully across the tile floor of the kitchen with a loud squeak. When he releases my arm, the inertia of his powerful pull flings me into the hard surface of the kitchen cabinets. I slam my shoulder into the cabinet painfully and crumple into a heap for only a moment before rolling over and sitting up and watching as Negan approaches Desi’s scorched figure where it’s slumped on the floor. 

“Please…have…mercy,” Desi forces out through his scalded and blistered lips. The weak and pathetic sound of his begging breaks my heart. I cry helplessly, knowing I can do nothing to stop what is about to unfold. Negan’s only response to Desi’s appeal is a chilling, contemptuous, and evil cackle; I know the deranged sound will haunt me for the rest of my life. _If I even live through this_. I realize then that I’m such an idiot for falling for Negan’s smothering charm, for allowing myself to be lured into his charismatic aura; he really is a monster after all. When we first met I suspected he was just as evil as his father, and now I have firsthand evidence of it. 

With one last desperate attempt to save Desi, I call out to Negan; begging him to stop. I hope my emphatic sobs will get through to Negan, but when he ignores me entirely, I know he’s too far gone. I try again, practically screaming when I ask him why he’s doing this. For a moment, the only sound in the room is my soft crying and breathy pants. Negan stands motionless with his bat hanging loosely at his side before breathing deeply and raising the bat to rest against his broad shoulder with both hands wrapped around the handle. My body jolts in fear when Negan yells, his booming voice shattering the silence as he finally answers my question. 

“I know a rat when I smell one!” he declares enthusiastically as he bends animatedly at the knees, tilting his body back at a sharp angle. He swings the bat around to strike Desi across the side of his face. Negan puts so much force behind the blow that I’m surprised he hadn’t knocked Desi’s head right off his shoulders. I watch in paralyzing horror as Negan swings again; this time when the bat meets his flesh, I hear the sound of Desi’s teeth skittering across the tile floor. I remain frozen and on my knees; not able to make a sound when Negan swings a third time and Desi finally flops forward, his figure hitting the floor with a ghastly wet slap. 

I fight against the bile rising in my throat when Negan raises both arms above his head and brings the bat straight down on Desi’s skull twice in quick succession, cracking his skull and sending disgusting chunks of brain matter exploding in all directions. The power behind Negan’s movements causes his sweat-soaked and blood-covered t-shirt to ride high up his tanned back with each brutal blow; every vigorous swing accompanied by an outright ferocious growl of exertion until Negan is virtually screaming in fury. 

When I’m sure I hear the tile beneath his feet crack after a particularly solid hit, I jump up, knowing I should intervene. As terrified as I am that I’ll meet the same fate once he remembers I’m here, I’m irrationally more worried about the manic and frenzied state of mind Negan is currently in. I know it’s too late to save Desi and that I should be running for my fucking life, but something in me urges me to stick around and stop Negan from his vicious attack before he hurts himself. 

Approaching him the way one might approach a wild animal, I reach a cautious hand out to wrap around his bulging bicep, careful to avoid the violent path of his swinging weapon. I wrap both hands around his muscular arm, shaking him hard and calling out to him, hoping to be heard over the sound of his uproarious grunts. I know I’ve gotten his attention when he removes one dripping hand from the handle of the bat to press against my middle and shove me backwards with brute force. My back slams hard into the edge of the counter, but I don’t let it deter me as I immediately return to Negan’s side. This time I dig my fists into the material of his soggy t-shirt as I yank and jerk him so hard I hear the seams of the shirt tearing. 

“Stop, Negan!” I scream. “Fucking _stop_ , please!” My shrieking voice finally reaches him as he ceases his rampaging obliteration of what’s left of Desi’s anatomy. Negan turns to glare at me, his eyes burning with hatred and scalding lividity. As frightening as it is to see, it is better than seeing his eyes so cold and empty like they had been earlier. Negan looks at me, but it’s almost as if he’s seeing right through me. I give him a moment to come back to himself, all the while his teeth are bared and his breath is heaving so hard he’s nearly snarling. 

I drop my hands from his torn and stretched shirt, still crying as I watch his expression closely. Finally, Negan _actually_ acknowledges me, though his face gives nothing away. I wait for him to say something – _anything_ – but he remains silent. I almost call out to him when he turns away from me before I realize he’s going to pick up the object he’d thrown on the counter earlier. Returning to me, he shoves it forcefully against my chest as he stalks past me to sit down at the table we’d eaten dinner at earlier. The hollow crash of his bat slamming against the surface of the table startles me before I regard the object in my hands with curiosity. _A folder_. 

The first thing I notice is the emblem printed across the front of the folder: _Federal Bureau Of Investigation – CONFIDENTIAL_. I furrow my brow as I place the folder on the counter next to me and flip it open. I quickly scan over the documents inside, flipping through several pages with vibrating hands before I realize what I’m looking at. Somehow, Negan had gotten a hold of the entirety of the file the FBI had been building for him. Inside it is a plethora of paperwork documenting his every move during the past few years, as well as typed transcripts of private conversations; all, I assume, courtesy of the FBI’s secret informant. I raise a shaking hand to cover my mouth as I have the presence of mind to leaf through to the last few documents where I know I’ll find the most recent incidents. There I find a sheet containing reports that – to my absolute horror – include my involvement with Negan. Every detail of my kidnapping, the embezzled money that caused it, me killing Derek, the ambush at Negan’s house, even my imprisonment at Vito Giovanzo’s house and the subsequent arson. 

My head swims as I try to take in what I’m seeing. This folder is brimming with intimate details that only someone close to Negan and myself would know. The only thing missing is the one crime Negan and I hadn’t disclosed to anyone. I connect the dots pretty easily at that point, making sense of what Negan had just done. However, I can't justify Negan’s violent outburst until I know for sure. Flipping back to front of the folder, I find a small piece of paper clipped to the inside, identifying the Fed that the file belongs to. _Agent Desmond Zobell_. 

All at once, my mind begins to filter through all the small details that – when put together – paint an eerie picture of treachery. On their own, these things are odd at best, but combined I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed something was up sooner. For as long as I’d known Desi, he always had a rapt interest in every single thing Negan and I did. He would constantly be in contact, always needing to know where we were at all times. Being Negan’s consigliere, he’d had a cover for his seemingly protective concerns. On top of that, I remember my subconscious suspicion about Desi making it to the police station impossibly quick the night Negan was arrested. I realize now that he’d likely been there all along. Finally, Negan’s words before he’d massacred the man whose flesh and blood now coats the kitchen. _A rat_. 

I brace my hands on the counter at the indubitable confirmation of my worst fear – it had been Desi all along. I’d trusted him with my life and even come to love him as a dear friend and I’m struggling to fathom the idea that all the while he had been an FBI informant. Now accepting the truth, I wonder what lie Desi was trying to tell me outside; whether he was trying to turn me against Negan to get me out or trying to fool me and take me down as well. 

Raising my eyes to Negan, I see he’s already looking at me intently and has likely been watching me as I read through the file for the past few minutes and tried to process the truth about Desi. The expression on his face is defeated and I can clearly see exhaustion in his eyes. I slowly make my way over to him, timidly testing the waters to see if he really has calmed down. Upon closer inspection, I can see his eyes shining with just a touch more wetness than usual. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Negan whispers. The sound of his soft voice cracking slightly causes fresh tears to spring to my own eyes. I step between his spread thighs and wrap my arms around him, pulling his head forward and allowing him to rest his forehead against my abdomen as he threads his arms around my lower back. With his arms tightly twined around me, I can feel that he’s shaking faintly and my heart breaks for him. I am considerably upset about someone I’d befriended for a very short time, I can’t imagine how sharp and painful the sting of betrayal must be for Negan now that he’s gotten all of the anger out of his system. Desi was someone he’d loved and trusted implicitly for many long years. We both considered him a close friend and had told him practically every one of our deep, dark, and nefarious secrets. Unfortunately for us, we had no idea we’d been supplying highly incriminating fodder to the one individual hell-bent on bringing us down and ruining our lives. 

I run my fingers through Negan’s slicked back hair, damp from a combination of sweat and blood. My fingers massage his scalp soothingly as I rock back and forth with him in my arms for a long while. My eyes fall on the bloody bat perched on the table; bits of flesh hang from the barbs and a crimson puddle pools beneath it on the wooden surface. 

"It’s gonna be okay,” I whisper gently. I feel moisture seeping into the material of my dress and I don’t know whether it’s tears or sweat and I’m not sure I want to know; seeing Negan cry would absolutely break me. Not knowing what else to say to him, we remain wrapped around each other until I hear him speak quietly. 

“You’re too good for me, sweet girl,” he mutters, his voice weak and broken. “I don’t deserve you.” I pull back slightly, prompting Negan to look up at me. 

“Don’t say that, you’re all I have,” I state matter-of-factly. Bending forward, I capture Negan’s lips in a firm kiss. “You’re mine,” I whisper against his lips. At my proclamation, he pulls me into his lap, embracing me tightly and burying his face against my neck as I wrap my arms over his shoulders. 

His overgrown scruff tickles the skin on my shoulder as he speaks. “I love you, darlin’,” he emphasizes with a firm squeeze around me. I sigh deeply in response as exhaustion overcomes me, though I can’t help the curiosity that makes me address the elephant in the room. 

“How did you find out?” I implore him. “Where did you get that file?” 

He pulls back to look at me before speaking tersely. “Somethin’ was off with him. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but he was actin’ fuckin’ weird lately. Askin’ too many damn questions,” he explains. “I never told him about what happened to Sy and my old man, but he was suspicious and kept pryin’...talkin’ about it all the time, tryin’ to get me to fess up. He was relyin’ on me to admit we did it since he had no actual evidence.” I can hear Negan growing angry again as he continues. “I just had a feelin' somethin' was up the night we got pulled over. He called in that anonymous tip, hopin’ to break one of us if they took us in." Negan pauses momentarily, exhaling sharply before he continues. "I listened to my gut and I checked out his car after he got here. Found that fuckin’ folder in there with a shitload of audio tapes, so I had to shut that shit _right_ down. Motherfucker knew I was gettin’ out and he panicked, which was a _bad_ fuckin’ move.” 

When Negan mentions the collection of tapes, I understand immediately that Desi had been wearing a wire and recording us. That realization explains the bizarre way Negan had patted him down upon his arrival; he was looking for a wire. I can’t even imagine what things those tapes contain, though I know we’re fucked if they ever see the light of day. 

“So what happens now?” I ask, voicing the question I know we’re both thinking. “The FBI probably knows everything and you just slaughtered their informant.” 

Negan groans in frustration before responding. “I know a guy who can clean this up,” he looks at the blood sprayed across the kitchen before adding, “literally. Couple grand and he’ll get rid of the body and get us outta here without a trace. And then we just gotta hope that dumbass didn’t share any of his finds with the higher-ups. Maybe no one else knows what he knows.” I nod slowly and stand from Negan’s lap. 

Moving to the kitchen, I take in the gruesome scene. Blood is splattered across nearly every surface, including the ceiling. The wall Desi had propped himself against is dripping with blood and the remnants of his flesh are surrounded by a wide flood of crimson. _I’d hate to be the guy who has to clean up this mess_. All sympathy out the window, I feel a pang of stifling anger at the lie Desi had lived for so long; a lie that almost cost me the man I love. _Fuck you, Desi_. 

Negan slides behind me to curl an arm around my waist as he rests his chin atop my head. I look down, now noticing my hands and arms are tinted red from when I’d wrapped them around Negan; nearly every inch of him had been sprayed with Desi’s blood. _He needs a damn shower_. 

“I’m gonna take you away from here, baby,” he offers with a soft murmur. “For _real_ this time. It’s over now.”


	36. Stories With Unhappy Endings

Agreeing to Negan’s offer, I stand alone among the carnage while he vacates the room to call the cleaner from his office. I know – given his occupation – his cleaner isn’t the type you call up to dust off your knick knacks and shampoo your carpets. Tearing my eyes from the grisly environment surrounding me, I grab the treacherous maroon folder from the counter and quietly glide out the back door into the advancing night. With a final scathing glare at the stack of documents, I toss them into the dying flames in the fire-pit and watch as the fire laps away hungrily at the papers; leaving nothing of the evidence but a pile of ash and charred remains. _Good riddance_.

I return to the house, passing through the blood-covered kitchen without so much as a glance at the minced corpse upon the floor this time. When I reach the hallway just outside the room, I brace my back against the wall and slide to the ground in an exhausted heap. Looking up, I see Negan heading my way and he repeats my action, joining me on the floor. 

“Lieutenant Quinn told me the FBI had a pending case against you,” I confess bluntly after a few minutes, unsure how else to approach the subject. “I knew there was an informant.” I don’t dare turn in Negan’s direction, too afraid to look him in the eye. 

“And you didn’t think that was somethin’ I’d wanna know?” he wonders. The sharp, biting tone of his words already makes me regret my admittance. 

“Well first of all, I wasn’t sure how to tell you without you getting suspicious and ripping my head off,” I sneer defensively. “I figured it was bullshit or she had some ulterior motive for telling me. I never had a chance to bring it up, anyway. Locked in a prison cell next to you didn’t really seem like the most appropriate time or place to divulge government secrets. Besides, you clearly had a pretty firm grasp of what was going on based on what just happened in your kitchen.” 

Negan huffs angrily at the attitude seeping into my words before responding. “Why would she even tell _you_ that? If she wanted to help, why not just come directly to me?” The subtle accusation in his tone grates on what remains of my nerves and I raise my voice. 

“I don’t know, Negan. Your guess is as good as mine,” I snark in irritation, finally turning to meet his gaze. “Maybe she didn’t tell you because you’re such a fucking hothead and she knew you’d flip out or do something stupid. I don’t blame her.” 

With that, I push up from the floor with every intention of storming off. I don’t have the patience necessary for a conversation with Negan when he’s being like this. Before I can make my grand exit, I feel his long fingers seize my wrist, halting my movements. Thankfully, before he has a chance to open his inexhaustible mouth, the doorbell rings to indicate the arrival of the cleaner. Negan rises to stand next to me, shooting me a disapproving glare and barking an order with his face intruding on my personal space. 

“Go upstairs and wait until he’s gone,” he demands frostily. “Pack whatever shit you can grab, we’re outta here the second he leaves." 

Based on our track record of escaping thus far, I’m hesitant to put any faith in us actually getting away from here, but I obey Negan’s words regardless. We walk alongside each other toward the front of the house, separating when we reach the base of the staircase directly across from the front door. I trudge up the stairs, giving a last look over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of the man outside the door. The thin wire-framed glasses perched upon his emotionless face add to his general creepiness; his visage befitting of a man with such an egregious job. 

Reaching the upper landing of the steps, I stride to Negan’s room and immediately grab a large bag and start filling it with piles of his clothing. I grab another bag and toss in the few articles of my own clothing that had accumulated during my time at Negan’s house. In a third bag, I begin gathering armfuls of toiletries from the bathroom attached to the bedroom. I’m not overly concerned with having enough clothing and supplies for a specific amount of time as we both have more than enough money to purchase an entirely new wardrobe and an abundance of necessities once we reach wherever the hell we’re going. 

When the bags are adequately filled, I plop myself down on the bed with a huff. I take a moment to consider what has become of my life. Never in a million years did I imagine returning home for a funeral would turn into this. I’d seen and done things I hoped to avoid at all costs, but I also managed to find myself most unexpectedly in love. If nothing else, through all my trials and tribulations, I am glad to have found Negan. Now that he is leaving his past lifestyle behind and our troubles are hopefully entirely resolved, we'll have every opportunity to start over new together, somewhere far away from this odious mess. I don’t know how things will play out, but I have high hopes for us from here on out. 

The sound of Negan entering the room pulls me from my ruminations, though I don’t acknowledge his presence. Seemingly returning the favor, he spares me only a mere glance before slipping his filthy t-shirt over his head as he paces speedily toward the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. Among the spraying and trickling of the running shower, I hear the sound of Negan’s belt and heavy-soled boots hitting the floor. With a sigh, I rise from the bed and slink into the bathroom along with Negan just as he steps into the shower. The rhythm of the falling water changes slightly as it hits the surface of his skin and sloshes in waves to the floor of the cubicle. 

Turning to face the sink, I grab a soft, black hand towel and run it under the faucet, letting the warm water soak into the cloth. I drag the damp cloth over the surface of both my arms, sweeping across the crimson streak still lingering on the skin. Dropping the small square of terrycloth to the counter, I rinse my hands as well before plucking a dry towel from the rack to dry off. Just then, the water in the shower at my back shuts, and Negan steps from inside. Very subtly scanning my eyes over his dripping form, I pass him the towel clutched in my hands, allowing him to dry off as well as I walk back to the bedroom. 

Heading for the dresser against the wall, I pull out some underwear, a pair of black leggings and a t-shirt from among the leftover bits of my wardrobe I’d started stashing at Negan’s house. Whisking my soiled dress off my body and letting it fall to the floor, I slip the clean clothing on before grabbing my boots from the closet and pulling them onto my feet. Taking a seat on the edge of Negan’s bed again, a thought occurs to me just as he steps from the bathroom with a towel secured around his waist and another rubbing thoroughly at his damp hair. 

"You’re out on bail, you can’t leave the state without the bail bondsman’s permission.” Negan removes the towel from over his head and begins gathering his own clothing as he considers my point for a moment before replying sardonically. 

“Darlin’, the FBI’s chief informant on my case is about to turn up missing. Pretty sure me leavin’ the state while on bail is gonna be the least of their worries where I’m concerned,” he scoffs. 

“Doesn’t that complicate things a little for us?” I ponder. “You’re already under supervision and you’ll be the first person they look at once they realize Desi is missing. We can’t exactly fly under the radar right now.” 

“You just let me worry about that,” Negan counters as he reaches out for the bags situated at the edge of the bed. “Now grab your shit and get movin’ before anyone realizes somethin’ is up and things really get complicated.” 

As I reach out to grab my bags, Negan’s eyes fall upon my extended arm. I watch as he studies the red fingerprints decorating my forearm; the redness of the marks has started fading, but I know they’ll turn into bruises before long. Pain and regret floods Negan’s eyes as he reaches out to grip my elbow and pull me closer. Taking a deep breath, he runs his thumb gently just below one of the welts. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you, baby,” he whispers lowly. With time working against us, I know we don’t have the luxury of having a full blown discussion about his behavior. Besides, there isn’t much to talk about; I understand he didn’t have intentions to hurt me and merely got caught up in his own anger. There’s nothing to be done about it now and I’ve already forgiven him. Not wanting him to feel guilty, when he raises his eyes to mine, I merely shake my head, assuring him that we can let it go. “C’mon,” he utters with a tilt of his head, easily moving past the matter as he adjusts the bags in his hands. 

At his behest, I pick up the last remaining bag on the bed. Pulling the strap over my shoulder, I look around the familiar bedroom one last time before following Negan down the stairs. When we turn the corner at the bottom of the steps to head to the garage, I can’t help peeking into the kitchen while Negan snatches up his cleansed baseball bat. Every surface is immaculately clean, no obvious indication of the earlier massacre present at all. I wonder just how thoroughly the room has been cleaned; if suspicions arose at the disappearance of a federal agent and Negan’s house was deemed a possible crime scene, would they find any incriminating evidence? _Likely not_ , I muse, _not with the amount of cash Negan forked over for that creep’s service_. 

As I habitually follow Negan to the Impala, I find myself hoping that by the time anyone realizes something is wrong, we’ll be long gone and impossible to track down. I try to ignore the knot forming in my stomach and convince myself that this absconsion is the one that finally grants us our happily ever after.


	37. Every Thug Needs A Lady

We’ve been on the road for hours and it’s well into the middle of the night by now. We’re heading down to Florida where Negan informed me he has a cousin who is more than willing to help us out. Expecting the long and arduous drive to be mind-numbingly boring, I’d climbed into the backseat after merely a few hours to take a short nap. Now awake, I’m aware of a heavy weight blanketing my entire body. Pulling my arms out from beneath the mass on top of me, I realize Negan had draped his leather jacket over my sleeping form. I wrap the material tightly around myself and inhale the intoxicating aroma of leather, sweat, and a spicy scent that is distinctly Negan. Indulging for only a moment, I sit up and thread my arms into the sleeves of the too-big jacket before climbing back into the front seat beside Negan.

“Good mornin’ sunshine,” he greets with a crooked smile. I groan sleepily in response as I check the clock to see what time it is – just past 3am. 

“How long ‘til we get there?” I ask raspily, growing antsy after being stuck in the car for only a little while. 

“At least a few more hours,” Negan replies. “Why, you already sick of bein’ around me, darlin’?” 

I smile weakly at his teasing. “Nah, not yet. But I kinda have to pee." 

"Looks like you’re in luck,” Negan responds, nodding his head in the direction of the road sign indicating an upcoming rest-stop at the next exit. 

The few minutes it takes for us to reach the rest-stop drag on now that I’ve acknowledged my full bladder. I begin to bounce my legs in anticipation as Negan steers the car into the parking lot and I swing my door open quickly the second the tires come to a stop. I throw my arm up to flip Negan the bird as I hear him making fun of me for my hasty trot to the bathroom. When I push open the heavy door, I realize I’ve never in my entire life been so happy to see a disgusting public bathroom. After relieving myself, I wash my hands in the grimy sink, careful not to get the sleeves of Negan’s jacket wet. I splash some cool water on my face and observe my haggard appearance in the streaked mirror. Remembering that Negan is outside waiting, I dry my hands and stride purposefully back to the car. 

Settling into the car again, I turn to see Negan leaning his head against the back of the seat as he regards me with a lop-sided and tired grin. “C'mere,” he requests with a small tilt of his head. I slide myself closer to him and when I’m within arms reach, Negan grips my hips to turn my body and drag me over to straddle his lap. He slides his hands underneath his jacket to push my t-shirt up slightly and run his warm fingers across the skin of my stomach. 

“If it were up to me, I’d only ever let you wear my clothes,” he purrs, regarding me with a heated look. 

“If it were up to me, I’d steal all your clothes so you’d have to walk around naked all the time,” I counter slyly with a quirk of my lips. 

At the sound of Negan’s resounding growl, I push my hips down against him, writhing enthusiastically against his growing erection. “ _Fuck_ , you’re insatiable,” he groans, a licentious grin splitting his lips as I increase the pressure and speed of my swiveling hips. “I bet you could cum just like this, grindin’ on my dick.” 

Taking Negan’s words as a challenge, I intensify my movements, creating a friction that causes us both to moan lustfully. I begin to rub even more eagerly against him, ready to rush headlong into my approaching orgasm. It takes only a few minutes and several filthy, growled words from Negan to push me over the edge; my thighs twitching slightly at the sparks igniting through my body as I dig my fingers into his broad shoulders. 

“Told ya,” Negan smirks cockily. _Smug bastard_. I climb off his lap to rid myself of my shoes and thin leggings as well as my soaked lace underwear before swinging a leg back over him and returning to my previous position in his lap. I leer hungrily at Negan as I reach down to unbuckle his belt with quick fingers. Assisting me in my hurried efforts, he lifts his hips to slide his pants down to mid-thigh. The arrogant expression decorating his face promptly turns to one of ecstasy as I slither a nimble hand inside his underwear to grip his hardening length. I stroke my hand up and down several times before lowering his boxers, giving myself access to his throbbing erection. 

Negan throws his head back with a pained growl as I slide the slick heat of my core along his solid dick, occasionally raising my hips to grind my clit against the thin trail of coarse hair along his lower abdomen. Negan drags his blunt fingernails down the outside of my soft thighs when I press myself against the head of his manhood, creating a pleasurable sting of pain along my skin. 

“Look what a fuckin’ mess you made, babygirl,” Negan snarls, looking down at my gathering wetness coating his dick and pelvis. “Stop fuckin’ teasin’ me, I need to bury my cock in that tight pussy.” 

With that, I take mercy on Negan in his desperate state; taking his painfully hard length in hand and guiding it inside my dripping entrance. I purposely lower my body as slowly as possible, torturing Negan with my leisurely pace. I let out a lengthy moan when I sink down onto him fully, reveling in the way he stretches and fills my body. 

“You feel so good,” I whisper breathily as I pull lightly at the short hairs on the nape of his neck. 

Negan takes a bruising grip on my hips, guiding my movements and setting a rapid pace as I bounce feverishly in his lap. He leans his head back against the seat, sporadically thrusting up into my body with jarring force. When I feel myself nearing my climax, I reach down to run my fingers over where our bodies are connected; gliding my fingers along the slick base of Negan’s thick cock and up and over my sensitive clit. The sensation of my touch causes Negan to increase the frequency of his forceful thrusts as he lowers his gaze, a look of rapture shrouding his handsome face as he watches his dick pound into my clenching pussy. 

Knowing we’re both nearing the peak, I lean back to take Negan farther inside me. The movement causes my back to press against the steering wheel, depressing the horn in a long and blaring strain. Annoyed by the obnoxious sound, Negan wraps his arms around my squirming body and tosses me sideways onto the front seat, not breaking our connection. He braces himself on his hands as he leans over my body and continues his impassioned thrusting, filling the small space of the car’s interior with the wet, squelching sounds of our bodies moving together. 

“Fuuuck, Negan, please” I yowl helplessly. I can feel his rhythm faltering and I know he’s close, so I goad him toward his release. “Cum inside me, Daddy." 

My words set him off almost immediately, his cock twitching and spurting deep inside me as he threads a hand loosely around my throat. The feeling of his warmth within my body triggers my own orgasm. My hips buck up against Negan’s as he unleashes a deep, guttural sound of satisfaction. I wrap my legs tightly around his lower back, pulling him even closer to me as my climax ripples throughout my entire body. We remain twined together and panting for several minutes until Negan pulls his softening length from my body, his thick cum seeping out with the movement. I use my discarded panties to swipe at the stickiness between my thighs before opening the door and tossing the dirty fabric onto the pavement. Negan sits upright next to me, readjusting himself as I pull my leggings back over my shaking legs and slide my shoes back on. 

"Babe…” he begins, his tentative tone immediately making me suspicious. “You wanna drive for a while?” I whine exaggeratedly at his question, despising the idea of having to drive and knowing that Negan is aware of my aversion to doing so. 

“Did you just fuck me into compliancy?” I ask with false offense as he presses several hot, wet kisses to my throat. “You totally just tried to bribe me with dick, right?” His resounding laugh lets me know how accurate my assumption is and I can’t help but to giggle along with him. I turn to regard Negan skeptically for a moment, observing the tiredness in his eyes. “Fine,” I huff, only taking pity on how exhausted he is and agreeing to let him have a break from driving. 

He grabs me to lift me over his lap and drop me on the other side of him, behind the wheel. I turn the key in the ignition and direct the growling car back onto the highway. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Negan immediately rest his head against the interior of the door and I twist my lips into a small, empathetic smile. _Poor guy is exhausted_. I return my eyes to the road and settle in for the remainder of our journey. 

Negan sleeps beside me until the sun begins to peek above the distant horizon, around the same time he stirs from his slumber. He rubs a hand over his tired face before groggily instructing me to stop at the first hotel we come across. I drive another 30 minutes or so before we find a hotel. I pull into the lot, grateful to be done driving and more than ready to curl up in a bed to get some decent sleep. We rent a room for the day and drag our bags from the car to settle in for a few hours before getting back on the road. 

“I need a shower,” Negan calls out, immediately heading for the bathroom as I strip off his jacket and climb into bed, responding only with a muffled groan. Not waiting for Negan, I cocoon myself deeply under the blankets and fall asleep before he even has a chance to turn on the water in the shower. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

When I wake up, the room is empty and silent. Not knowing how long I’ve been asleep, I wonder if I had just dozed off for a bit and maybe Negan is still in the bathroom. I rise from the bed and head for the bathroom, immediately seeing the door open and the lights off. I furrow my brow in confusion before turning back around to look around the room. Picking my phone up from the small table in the corner I see that it’s just past noon. I slept less than 5 hours and even though I’d gone to sleep before Negan, he is evidently already awake and roaming around somewhere. A spear of alarm shoots through my body when I place my phone back down on the table and I see Negan’s phone, car keys, and keycard still set on the table. _Why would he leave without his stuff?_

Realizing that he doesn’t have his phone so I have no way to contact him, I begin to panic. I whip the door open and step outside to scan the parking lot. My eyes immediately fall on the Impala, still parked where I’d left it earlier this morning. _Where is he?_ My heart begins to race and my hands shake slightly as I step back into the room and shut the door behind me, leaning against it. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t worry about Negan, he can take care of himself obviously. Of course, we aren’t exactly under normal circumstances currently. 

Just as my imagination heads in a dark direction, I hear a firm knock against the door behind me. I gasp in shock as the sound startles me before whipping around to look through the small peephole. A wave of relief washes over me as I see the distorted image of Negan standing on the other side of the door. I tear the door open, seeing the confusion on his face at my swift movements. Now knowing that he’s okay, my fear rapidly melds into something bordering on aggravation. I step forward and slap my hands against his chest to push harshly against his broad torso, knocking him off balance for only a second. I begin to pound my small fists against his chest, a vain attempt at conveying my displeasure at him disappearing with no notice. My ineffectual blows to his shoulders send him backwards for only a few steps before he braces against my hysterical attack. 

“Don’t just leave me like that,” I squawk. “At least leave a fucking note or something.” I land several more hits against Negan’s front before he drops whatever he is holding and wraps his slender fingers tightly around my wrists to stop my pathetic assault. His expression is angry, though it quickly relaxes to one of concern when he realizes the combination of panic and fear in both my voice and face. 

“Hey, hey. You do _not_ need to be scared anymore,” he soothes. “You don’t need to be scared.” At his adamant reiteration, I lift my eyes to look up at him. “We don’t have anything to worry about anymore, doll. It’s alright, I’m fine. We’re safe here. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you I would be right back.” _Yeah, no shit_. 

I release a sardonic huff at his words before opening my mouth, my tone dripping with animosity. “Where the hell were you?” Negan laughs lightly as he releases me from his hold and bends at the waist to pick up the small bag he’d dropped before. I feel slightly guilty when I realize he’d only left to get something to eat. 

“If I knew you were gonna kick my ass for tryin’ to feed you, I woulda let you starve, woman,” he jokes snarkily. I roll my eyes at his teasing and snatch the bag from his hand with a curse in his direction. I tear into the bag, suddenly aware of how hungry I am, and plop myself down at the table as I scoff down the greasy egg sandwich I’d hurriedly unwrapped. 

I pay no attention to Negan as he sits down across from me and we eat in silence. I pop each of my fingertips into my mouth, cleaning them of any remnants of food when Negan clears his throat. My eyes immediately shoot up to find him staring at me; I raise my eyebrows expectantly and wait for him to acknowledge the reason he’s watching me so intently. When he begins to chew nervously on his plump lower lip as he drags a hand through his beard in a gesture of anxiety, my entire body tenses with apprehension. 

“Izzie, listen,” he begins, sighing heavily and sliding a hand through his dark hair before he continues. _Oh shit, what now?_ "I don’t…shit…I don’t make this invitation to just anyone, darlin’. And I sure as _shit_ do not make it lightly." 

The serious tone of his voice paired with his agitated body language has me on edge. The suspense and tension growing between us as I wait for him to spit out whatever words he’s mulling over in his head threatens to make me burst into a million little pieces. I wring my hands together restlessly and squirm in my seat, ready to scream at Negan if he doesn’t finish what he started. 

I can’t imagine what the hell he can possibly be talking about, but his behavior is fraying my nerves. Aside from his occasional bouts of anger, it’s a rare occurrence to see him as anything but perfectly composed and at ease; the very sight of him acting so high-strung and jumpy is making me incredibly uncomfortable. My palms are starting to sweat when Negan finally continues, though his words make my sweaty palms the least of my concerns. 

"Marry me.”


	38. Runaway Love

My heart immediately jumps into my throat, threatening to cut off my ability to breathe. Negan’s words freeze my anxious movements and I sit stock still for several excruciatingly long moments. Though I’m looking at Negan, my vision swims and I can’t see much of anything. Heat engulfs my entire body due to my increased level of stress and any possible words I want to utter are caught in my throat. My fear and shock paralyze my limbs and render my voice wholly useless.

Stunned beyond function, I remain motionless in my seat. For how long, I’m not sure. Every insecurity and doubt my panicked brain can muster floods my mind. While I know Negan loves me and has done more than enough to prove so, buried somewhere in the deep, dark, and abhorrent recesses of my brain dwells a part of me that can’t seem to accept his words. _Why does he want to spend his life with me? What makes me so special?_

Amidst my negativity and musing, I know Negan is still waiting for me to answer him. Suddenly self-conscious, I can only imagine what he thinks is going through my head right now. Given my history of a severe disinclination for commitment and such emotional connections, I worry that he’s afraid I’m going to reject his precipitous proposal. With good reason, I suppose, considering that the very idea of such a request has me feeling nauseous and more than a little bit prepared to turn him down and run away as fast as I can. Not to mention how much the flabbergasted expression on my face is aiding Negan’s possible belief that he isn’t going to get the answer he’s hoping for. It takes longer than it should for me to finally collect myself enough to respond to Negan’s unexpected request. 

“I…what…I don’t even know what to say to that,” I splutter dumbly. “What are you…why…that’s…” I cut off my own bumbling sentence with a sharp sigh of exasperation as I try to calm down enough to speak properly. Chuckling softly at my completely frazzled state, Negan rises from his chair to crouch down in front of me, enclosing my hands in his much larger ones as he speaks to me from his stooped position on the floor. 

“You just have to answer me one question, and it’s a _big_ one,” he prompts with a hesitant smile dimpling his cheeks. “Will you marry me?” I can feel my hands shaking within Negan’s grasp as he voices those words again. _Is this seriously happening right now?_

“Are…are you sure?” I implore with a shaky voice. 

“Positive,” Negan declares, now grinning. “You’re already mine, darlin’, we both know that. But I want the rest of the world to know it too. Now,” he pauses momentarily to reach a hand into his pocket, producing a simple but beautiful silver ring with a dazzling clear stone inlaid on the center of the band, “are ya gonna answer the damn question or are you just gonna let me suffer here?” 

Deciding it’s time to face my fears head on, I steel myself and take the leap I never imagined myself capable of. Placing my free hand over my mouth, tears begin to trickle down my face as I nod my head decisively. “Yes, oh my god, _yes_ ,” I assert vehemently. 

“Yeah?” Negan ponders with a giddy expression painting his face. I continue nodding my head as he slips the ring over my delicate finger before grasping my face gently in his hands and kissing me passionately. We both laugh gleefully through the kiss as Negan lifts me into his arms and twirls me around before placing me lightly back onto my feet. I stare tearfully into his eyes, laughing as I continue to cry happily. For a moment our eyes are locked together, sharing in a deep gaze before Negan leans forward, lowering himself to my height to place a soft, lengthy kiss on my slightly parted lips. 

Negan lifts me up again to ease my body gently atop the bed, climbing over me to lay quick kisses over the entire surface of my damp face. When Negan stands back up to slowly drag each article of clothing from my body, I slap my hands over my eyes and burning cheeks as I giggle nervously. 

“Don’t get shy on me now, baby,” he whispers with a smile. Feeling overly bare and vulnerable, I begrudgingly lower my shielding hands to look down at Negan as he removes his own clothes. I bite down on my lip as he lifts one of my legs, laying soft kisses all the way from my ankle to my inner thigh before repeating the action along my other leg. He places a lingering kiss against the long scar marring my thigh before moving back over top of me to focus his ministrations along my pale stomach. Much like he’d done with my thigh, Negan pays rapt attention to the mangled scars covering my abdomen, gently running his fingers over them and lovingly kissing each one. The tender act brings more tears to my eyes as I shudder out a breath. 

“So beautiful,” he mutters resolutely. Negan continues worshiping the entirety of my body with his lips before returning to my mouth and capturing my lips in a consuming kiss. I twine my arms and legs tightly around Negan’s lithe form as he slowly slides his length along my slick lips. He teases me for a moment, prompting me to moan desperately and shift my hips in need. “Shh baby, let me make you feel good,” he placates, trying to quiet my pleas. 

He shifts his body so he’s behind me, aligning himself along my back and pulling me tightly to his chest before easing himself inside my clenching body. Negan rocks against me with deep, languid strokes, causing me to audibly gasp at the sensations coursing through my body. I throw my head back and lean it against his shoulder. The overwhelming feeling of Negan’s thick cock slowly but forcefully pressing against my sensitive walls renders me speechless. When Negan pulls my leg back to spread my thighs wider, I cry out in pleasure; the new position allowing him to push even deeper inside me. There’s something unquestionably different – more intimate – in our coupling that takes my breath away. 

Negan and I are both breathing heavily, our bodies writhing rhythmically and our sweat-slicked skin sliding together. I reach down to dig my nails into Negan’s forearm as he drags his fingers between my legs and over my clit. When I start to moan throatily and buck wildly against him, Negan intensifies the pressure of his agile fingers, pushing me quickly toward my release. He tightens his embrace around me and sucks gently on the delicate skin of my neck as his breathing deepens. Bracing a foot against the mattress, Negan increases the force of his thrusts; pulling almost all the way out of me only to slam his hips into mine, burying himself to the hilt inside my tight heat. The change in rhythm has me whining and grinding feverishly against Negan’s warm body. 

“Fuck, cum with me, gorgeous,” Negan commands as my body begins to ripple around his throbbing dick. He pants hotly against the side of my face as we climax together with substantial force. I let out a loud moan, nearly a scream, and reach back to thread my fingers through Negan’s thick hair, pulling slightly as every muscle in my body quivers. I feel Negan’s release flooding my body as his chest vibrates with a deep, satisfied groan. 

With my body still shaking and my chest still swelling turbulently, I rotate in Negan’s hold, turning to face him. “I love you,” I proclaim with deep sincerity while laying my hands on his bearded cheeks. I scoot forward to press my lips against his eagerly, pouring my emotions into the action. Negan drags me impossibly closer and presses his forehead to my heaving chest. 

“I love you so much, Izzie,” he expresses quietly, his heated breath ghosting across my moist skin. “You are everything to me.” I push Negan away from my body to lean down and kiss his forehead gently, the sentiment in his words threatening to make me cry yet again. _He’s turned me into such a crybaby_. 

“I’m yours, forever,” I assure him. He smiles genuinely up at me before rolling onto his back and pulling me close, letting me rest my head against his chest. 

“I know you’re still scared with everything going on, especially because of what’s already happened, but we’re gonna be okay,” he vows as he distractedly plays with my crimson tresses. “I promise. I’ll protect you and keep you safe, darlin’.” I sigh at his words and place a hand over his heart, softly drawing random patterns across his warm skin with my fingertips. I am admittedly afraid for us, but being with Negan always manages to assuage my worries about what can happen to us. 

I snort out an incredulous laugh when the glimmering jewelry adoring my finger catches my eye, reminding me of what I’ve agreed to. _I can’t believe I’m marrying him_. Negan hears the sound and smirks down at me, gripping my fingers in his and bringing my hand close to his face to press a kiss to each of my fingertips. I raise up on my elbow, placing my other hand on his chest and resting my chin on top of it. We share another long, meaningful look, neither one of us speaking the thoughts clearly running through our respective minds. Though I am terrified of commitment, I know how deeply I love Negan and I’m confident that I’m making the right decision by being with him. I release a contented sigh and wrap my arms around Negan’s waist, my head brimming with saccharine emotions and my heart full of love for the man relaxing beneath me. 

The sound of my ringing phone breaks the blissful silence in the room, though I make no move to answer the call. I tighten my hold on Negan, letting him know that I have no intention of moving from our tangled embrace. When my phone begins to ring a second time, Negan shifts to get up, ignoring my tightening arms and whines of protest at the loss of his warmth. 

“It’s a New York number,” he announces, looking at the illuminated screen as he makes his way back over to the bed. I tell him to answer the call and put it on speaker. Much to my surprise, the voice on the other end in Lieutenant Quinn. I inform her that she’s on speaker and listen as her words carry over the line. 

“Rumor has it you kids headed out of town,” she begins. “Coincidentally, you aren’t the only ones we can’t seem to locate. One of the FBI’s undercover agents is missing. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” 

Negan and I share a confused look before I respond. “Nope, no clue what happened to him,” I answer dismissively. I cringe at my words, knowing that I’ve possibly given myself away at my admitted knowledge that the agent in question is male, though it’s clear that she already has a pretty good idea of our involvement. 

“Hmm, figured as much. Well…if you were thinking of going somewhere, now seems like a pretty good time, I guess. Would be nice to go somewhere new and start fresh,” she muses absently. Her casual tone and continued desire to help us out surprises me. I wonder why she’s decided to give us so much assistance when I remember her confession that the mob had done a big favor for her at one point. _What goes around comes around_. 

Before she has a chance to hang up, I utter one last sentence. “Thank you, Alex,” I say, injecting as much sincerity in my tone as I can before we end the call. I turn my attention back to Negan, shrugging my shoulders at his slightly bewildered look. We both stand to gather our clothing that’s strewn around the room, redressing quickly before throwing our scattered belongings back into our bags. 

“So…back to it,” Negan announces enthusiastically as he grabs his keys from the table and takes my hand in his. We head out to the parking lot, climbing into the Impala for the umpteenth and getting back on the road to finish our journey to freedom. With renewed vigor and the highest of hopes for the new possibilities of our future, I’m feeling light as air as we speed southward; side by side and hand in hand.


	39. Bad Moon Rising

I swipe my fingers quickly across the small bead of sweat trickling down my forehead as I lounge comfortably in the blissfully warm sun. Since arriving in Florida, I’ve spent nearly every second outdoors, basking in the hot rays. Negan and I are currently shacked up at a second house he owns; a beautiful residence, smaller than his home in New York, but just as luxurious. With the surrounding gates and state-of-the-art security system, I finally feel safe enough to relax and let myself truly enjoy my time with Negan. Plus, the fact that no one knows where we are is certainly helping to ease my worries.

Aside from a few lengthy phone calls here and there from ex-associates and old friends, Negan has been spending almost all of his time by my side. It’s such a relief for me to see that he’d kept his word when he said he was out of the mob – the business aspect of it anyway. I wasn’t sure he would be able to tear himself away from a lifestyle he’d known since birth, but he’d managed to do so; for my sake, no less. Negan and I are happy together, I’m happier than I’ve ever been. Everything is falling into place and I’m positively glowing with excitement for our future together. 

As if on cue, the door behind me slides open and I hear Negan approach before sitting down beside me on the lounge chair. My euphoric bubble of paradise is promptly burst when Negan lets me know he’s just spoken to some of his local connections in Miami and they’ve invited him to a party – a party which he insists I accompany him to. 

“No, Negan,” I respond coldly, not moving from my reclined position or removing my dark sunglasses to look in his direction. “We’re not going. You’re done with those people, remember? You promised me.” 

“I know, Iz. And I’m gonna keep my promise. This doesn’t mean anything,” he insists. “I have to go as a courtesy, out of respect. These men have been my partners and friends for a long time. If I want out, I have to go see them, okay?” 

Reluctant to involve myself with this new group of criminals, I put up quite a fight, but Negan continues to persist until I finally gave in. Though I agree to go, we make a compromise that we will only attend the party long enough for Negan to discuss some things with the head of the Genovese crime family and then we’ll bow out and come home. I groan inwardly as I check the time and realize I have mere hours before I have to join Negan at this dreaded gathering. 

“We gotta leave soon, doll,” he murmurs, running a hand along my exposed thigh. I sigh in agitation as I sit up finally and lean my head against his shoulder momentarily. 

“You owe me _big time_ for making me do this,” I quip accusingly. 

“In and out, I swear,” he assures me, one final attempt to placate and convince me. “Quick and painless. I’ll make it up to you when we get home,” he whispers hotly against my ear. I sigh a second time before rising from the chair and dragging Negan with me back into the house so we can get ready. 

Strolling into the massive walk-in closet, I browse through the scarce collection of garments I’d procured during our very short time here. I flip through my options at least three times before finally settling on a tight, knee-length black dress. Selecting a pair of pointy but comfortable heels, I skirt past Negan and head to the bathroom to prepare. I strip out of my sweaty, slightly sticky clothes and hop in the shower to rinse my body. I don’t bother washing my hair as I’ll never have enough time to fix my hair once it dries into a curly, frizzy mess. 

Just as I shut the water and step from my speedy shower to slide fresh lingerie over my damp skin, Negan steps into the bathroom. As I paint a small amount of makeup on my face, I find myself leering at him in the reflection of the mirror in front of me – dressed in black straight-legged slacks and a crisp, white dress shirt with the first few buttons undone and his tie hanging loosely around his neck. Even with his clothing not yet perfected and neat, he still looks delectable. Our eyes connect in the mirror with a heated gaze as Negan steps closer, pressing his hips against my panty clad bottom and gripping my waist tightly. 

“Don’t even think about it, we don’t have time for a quickie,” I warn him playfully. Though we are in fact tight on time, it’s my consuming nerves about the looming party that prompt me to stop Negan’s amorous advances. I laugh at Negan’s petulant grumbling as he buttons up his shirt and reaches for his toothbrush, giving me a cheeky, insolent look that makes me giggle. I slip the flattering dress over my body, toying with it until it’s adjusted flawlessly. I turn to Negan to fix his tie for him as he stares down at me with a small smile gracing his lips. 

“You look absolutely stunning,” he compliments lowly as he places a kiss on my forehead. I can’t help the blush that colors my cheeks at his words and I bury my face shyly against him. I find myself smiling widely at the sight of the diamond ring on the hand I have braced against his chest. 

Tearing myself from my whimsical musings, I remind Negan that we need to hurry up if we don’t want to be late and I walk out to the bedroom to select a few pieces of jewelry. I rotate around to watch as Negan slips his muscular arms into a sleek black suit jacket and then struggle slightly to clasp an expensive silver watch around his wrist. I grab my own jacket, the distressed leather material of the cropped garment adding a casual touch to my outfit. Now both prepared, we stride out of the room, setting out for an undoubtedly long night of stress and unwelcome socialization. _Here goes nothin’_. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, I promise,” Negan mutters lowly in my ear as he tries to extract his arm from my gripping hands when we enter the party. “Stay here, maybe grab a drink before you have a god damn heart attack.” I give him a scathing look at his taunt, not beyond kneeing him in the balls for making fun of how tense and stressed out I am about being here among all these people. 

“Negan, I can’t do this,” I whine pitifully. “Don’t leave me by myself, please.” I latch both hands around his thick bicep and refuse to let him leave my side. I take several deep breaths to calm myself as I feel tears start to fill my eyes. 

“Izzie, look at me,” Negan demands, rubbing his hands up and down my arms soothingly. “You are _fine_ , babe. I’m gonna be right over there,” he says, gesturing to the group of intimidating members of the Genovese family at the other end of the room. “Give me 15 minutes to talk to Lucky and I’ll be back, okay?” 

I’m well-versed enough in the syndicate to know Negan is referring to Charles Luciano, the head of the oldest of the Five Families. The idea of Negan meeting with such a substantial member makes me ridiculously uneasy and only adds to my denial of his departure. Still, I know Negan isn’t going to give in so I relent, nodding my head and finally releasing him from my desperate clutches. 

I watch with suffocating anxiety as Negan turns his back to me and drifts determinedly through the crowd gathered in the room. Keeping a close eye on him, I see the group of suited men greet him warmly and I relax only slightly. I still fidget uncontrollably as I can only imagine what specifically Negan would be saying to such an important and influential part of the organization – based on his assurances that this meeting has nothing to do with business, I assume he’s tying up loose ends; this really is his last step toward getting out of the life, and for that reason only I agreed to accompany him tonight. The interaction seems to be going well, everyone is relaxed and friendly and I find myself calm enough to let my gaze wander. Glancing around the room, I admire the elegant decor and the beautifully dressed people. Sometimes I miss this kind of luxurious lifestyle, though I know from experience the magnificence isn’t worth the danger and burden that comes with it. 

As a waiter sweeps past where I’m propped casually against the wall, I stop him and ask for a glass of water. I know alcohol would help immensely with my nerves, but I want to be fully alert and cognizant in this environment. 

“Make that two waters,” a slow, deep voice requests from over my shoulder. I quickly whip my head around to observe the owner of the voice, noting the distinct New York lilt accenting his words. Beside me stands an imposingly tall man with wide-set dark eyes, a slightly receding hairline, and an eerily serious expression on his face. His nearly black eyes meet my own and a wicked grin splits his lips. The sight of his toothy smile is disturbingly shark-like and my skin crawls with both fear and disgust. 

“Been a long time since I saw such a pretty lady ‘round here, you must be new,” he prompts. I so deeply do not want to engage with this hair-raising character, but I know being rude with any of the people here tonight won’t end well for me. _Just suck it up and play nice until Negan comes back_. 

“Yeah. Just accompanying a friend, as a date,” I reply shortly as I spin back around to observe the room again. I shut my eyes and blow out a frustrated breath as I mentally berate myself. _A friend? Also known as your fucking fiancé_. I find myself hoping that my small gaff won’t subject me to another second of conversation with the strange man, realizing if I’d indicated my unavailability I was more likely to be left alone. I’m almost relieved when the waiter returns with a pair of water-filled glasses, though the feeling is short-lived as the voice beside me speaks again. 

“Hey c'mon, sweetcheeks,” he offers creepily, “I’m no _skeevatzI need to get away from this guy_. 

Before I can make my escape, he speaks again, holding up his glass in an expectant gesture. “To new friends and beautiful women,” he offers, moving his glass closer, waiting for me to raise my own in a toast. 

“Isn’t it bad luck to toast with water?” I drone in a bored voice, clearly conveying my disinterest in his ongoing company. I slowly rub my finger over the condensation collecting on the cold surface of the glass cradled in my hand, making no move to reciprocate my companion’s motion. Richie’s face falls slightly at my stubbornness and I shift my feet nervously before his disturbing smile returns once more. 

“Ah, I don’t believe in bad luck, baby,” he declares, speaking slowly. “ _Good_ luck, however…well I’ve certainly been blessed with some of that tonight.” The way his leering gaze scans over my body makes it obvious as to what he’s referring to and the groping hand that reaches out to drag down my arm solidifies my observation. 

I swiftly yank my arm out of reach of his grimy fingers, anger coloring my face as I open my mouth to tell him off. Just as I finish out my string of vicious obscenities, two men approach, prompting my offender to take a minuscule step away from me. Looking up, I see the men who’ve come to my aid are Negan and another dark-haired man who looks to be about Negan’s age. The wrathful looks upon their faces do nothing to hide their disapproval of the actions of the man stood before me. A man who’s face is now equally enraged. 

“Keep your fuckin’ hands far the fuck away from my woman, Richie, or I’ll fuckin’ cut ‘em off,” Negan snarls in a rage. Upon hearing Negan’s words, Richie lets out a bitter laugh. 

“Shit, this poor broad is with you, Slugger?” he implores tauntingly. I shift my eyes between the two men, gathering that they have some sort of history based on their familiarity and Richie’s use of the befitting nickname. He turns to me then, his voice taking on a sickly sweet drawl. “That’s too bad, I coulda shown you a _real_ good time, sweetheart.” Negan moves to step toward Richie, but the mystery man beside him reaches an arm across his chest to halt his movements. Richie lets out another emotionless laugh and glides over to Negan, sliding up close to his face and invading his personal space. 

“You thought you were safe running down here on the sly like a fuckin’ coward and asking for Lucky’s help?” Richie whispers threateningly. “Nah. The word is out, you are _not_ safe. In fact, you are _fucked_. Both of you’s.” With his last words, he turns to glare in my direction for a long moment before departing from our small group altogether. 

Negan immediately grabs my shoulders, pulling me close and making sure I’m alright. When he confirms that I’m okay, Negan steps back to introduce me to the man at his side. “This is my cousin, Terrible Tommy,” he says, gesturing to the slightly shorter man. “If you ever need anything at all and I’m not around for whatever reason, you go to him and he’ll take care of you.“ 

“You want me to put my trust into the hands of some guy named _Terrible_ Tommy?” I question sarcastically. Both men chuckle lowly at my remark before Negan instructs Tommy to keep and eye on me and returns to the other side of the room. Tommy and I stand together in silence for a moment until he hands me a business card with his phone number on it, telling me to call him if I ever need something. I glance down at the card and laugh out loud at the revelation that he owns a garbage disposal company. _Of fucking course_. 

“What is Negan over there yakking about with those guys?” I implore quietly as I tuck the card into my jacket pocket. Surprisingly, Tommy turns to me and immediately answers my question – honestly, no less. 

“Makin’ a deal with Lucky,” he begins. “Lucky needs Negan’s help with something and in return he’s offered Negan protection.” Though Tommy’s admittance angers me, I can’t find the words to ask any of the questions coursing through my mind. _He was supposed to be getting out of the organization, not driving himself deeper _.__

__Wanting to remove myself from the suddenly revolting room, I excuse myself to the bathroom and swiftly stride away from Tommy’s side. I slam the bathroom door behind me, making sure to lock it so I won’t be disturbed. I brace my hands on the granite countertop and stare at my reflection for several minutes. Clenching my jaw, I barely stop the oncoming tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. With a final annoyed whisper to myself to stop being so emotional, I unlock the door and angrily whip it open, ready to march back into the throng of party goers and track down Tommy so he can take me home. If Negan wants to lie to me and go back on his word that he is done with these people, he can stay here conspiring as long as he wants and go home alone._ _

__Before I take more than a few steps back down the hall, I’m met with the sound of several enraged voices yelling as well as the shattering of glass. Picking up my pace, I’ve just made it to the doorway of the main room of the house when Tommy steps into my path. With a hand on each of my upper arms, he pushes me backwards down the hall, though from over his shoulder I can see what all the commotion is about. In the center of the room, Negan and Richie are pushing at one another aggressively before Negan snaps. He swings and his fist connects with Richie’s face with a particularly forceful hit that knocks him to the ground. I watch in shock as Negan drops to the ground over Richie’s body and attacks him with a barrage of powerful hits before several well-dressed men struggle to pull him back to his feet and away from Richie._ _

__The sight of Negan instigating a fight in the middle of a party sends me further into a rage and I obey Tommy’s commands to walk down the hall and out the front door. I pull out of his grasp as I stomp irately down the front stairs with him following closely behind. When I reach Negan’s car, I yank the handle harshly only to find the door is locked. I spin around with a frustrated growl and prop myself against the cool metal to wait for Negan to finish making a spectacle of himself inside._ _

__Within a few minutes, several people begin to filter out the front door and I spot Negan among them. At the sight of his cousin, Tommy tosses a quiet goodbye in my direction before telling me he’ll give us some space as he leaves me alone to await Negan’s arrival. I see Negan reach into his pocket to fish out his keys, pressing the button on the fob to automatically unlock the car doors from a distance. When Negan approaches me, he immediately steps into my personal space, reaching out for me. I reflexively flinch away from his hands, too angry to let him touch me right now. When he reaches for me again and leans over to kiss me, I cross my arms over my chest and turn my head away from him defiantly so his lips barely brush along my cheekbone._ _

__“What, you afraid of me now, darlin’?” he wonders, evident irritation chilling his tone. I scoff loudly at his words and the tone with which he utters them, rolling my eyes before regarding him with abhorrence and disgust._ _

__“Just take me home,” I bite out, spinning around to open the car door and drop into the seat before slamming the door shut again. From the corner of my eye, I see Negan still standing there; undoubtedly equal parts confused and annoyed by my vexed mood._ _

__I watch as he crosses in front of the car toward the driver’s side, the tight set of his jaw giving away his displeasure in my behavior. The door swings open and I prepare myself for his inevitable ranting, more than ready to fight fire with fire and come out swinging the second he opens his mouth. He’s pissed, but so am I; more than he’s probably expecting. The drive home is surely going to be long and overwrought with tension and aggravation, but I’m not about to let Negan get away with this._ _


	40. Sucker Punch

My fists are balled up tightly in my lap as Negan directs the car onto the main road. I clench my tense hands in a pulsating pattern, focusing my eyes straight ahead and convincing myself not to swing in Negan’s direction. _Not while he’s driving, anyway_. I’m so furious at him for lying to me and causing a scene. I don’t even know how to handle my consuming rage and it takes every bit of my self control not to explode right off the bat.

My attention is diverted to the man beside me when I catch a glimpse of him in my periphery, digging deeply into his pants pocket. I watch incredulously as he reaches up, holding a pack of cigarettes, and switches the hand gripping the steering wheel to rummage inside his jacket pocket. Now holding a lighter in one hand and his cigarettes in the other, he takes both hands off the wheel to pull one out and light up, letting the car swerve momentarily. 

With the smoldering cancer stick dangling from his pink lips, Negan runs an agitated hand through his overgrown facial hair. I stare in absolute disbelief as he exhales a plume of smoke in the direction of the windshield, the acrid haze hitting the thick glass and spreading along the interior of the car. _Are you kidding me?_ Already pissed at him for what he’s done tonight, the sight of him smoking in the enclosed space of the car finally sets me off. I swiftly reach out to snatch the cigarette from his mouth as I roll down the automatic window and promptly toss the offending object out of the car. 

“The fuck are you doin’?” Negan questions, his tone slightly amused and full of shock. Every word that leaves his mouth dangerously catalyzes my simmering rage. 

“You know I fucking hate that shit,” I sneer icily. “I’ve asked you _repeatedly_ not to smoke around me. God forbid you actually care about anyone but yourself.” I mumble the end of my statement under my breath, but I know the words still reach Negan. 

An uncomfortable and tense silence stretches between us before Negan responds to my sharp remark. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he spits in defense. I snort derisively at his obliviousness as I dismiss his inquiring words. 

“Nothing, forget it,” I mutter bitterly, turning to look out the window. 

“Nah, you got somethin’ to say to me then fuckin’ say it, doll,” he responds mirthlessly. “C'mon, I’m _really_ fuckin’ intrigued.“ 

I’d been committed to ignoring Negan for the remainder of the long drive home, but at the sound of his taunting tone, I can’t hold back. Rotating my head around to regard him with a sneer, I take a deep breath before lashing out. 

“Can I actually say something to you, or are you gonna beat the shit outta me for mouthing off, too?” I await some sort of snide, sarcastic remark about the fact that I’m angry at him for reacting so violently to a threat earlier, but Negan’s next words are slightly unexpected. 

“Are you fuckin’ _kidding_ me, Izzie? Tell me…when the fuck have I _ever_ laid a hand on you like that before?” I can hear the rage dripping from Negan’s words, though I have no intention of responding to his rhetorical question. “That’s what I fuckin’ thought. Now either tell me what the fuck your issue is or shut the fuck up because I’m _not_ in the fuckin’ mood for your shit tonight.” 

_You asked for it_. “Alright, fine. What the hell was that shit you pulled earlier?” I begin. “You just start throwing punches in the middle of a party? We’re supposed to be laying low, not starting wars.” 

Negan laughs dispassionately under his breath before retorting. “I was lookin’ out for _you_. That piece of shit threatens you and you just expect me to sit by and do nothing?” 

“Why was he threatening me in the first place?” I yell passionately. “I thought we were safe. That’s what you told me, or was that just one of your many lies?” I pause momentarily to gather my thoughts before continuing my rant. “Who the fuck was that guy anyway? Clearly you two know each other.” 

“The Iceman,” comes Negan’s short reply. 

“The _Iceman_ , what is he, a fucking superhero?” I bite out. “Who the hell is he, Negan?” 

“His name is Richie Kuklinski. Fuckin’ guy is a cold-blooded killer, hence the name. He’s Sy Berman’s nephew.” I whip my head to look at Negan as my stomach drops at his revelation. 

I stare at the side of Negan’s face as it dawns on me what this means. “He knows…he knows I killed Sy, doesn’t he?” I can’t stop the fear that causes my voice to tremble slightly. 

“He thinks I’m the one who did it, but yeah, he knows we were involved,” Negan offers. “You’re safe Izzie, he doesn’t think you’re responsible.” Rage courses through my veins at Negan’s placating words, I know it’s a lie; I’m not safe, I’m _never_ safe. 

“Stop fucking telling me that!” I yell in irritation. “I’m not safe. If that asshole comes after you, that puts me in danger too. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time I got caught in the crossfire because someone is after you, Negan.” I know the accusatory and disdainful tone of my voice is dangerously close to crossing a line, but I’m unconcerned with pissing Negan off by now. 

I receive no response to my statement and the only sound in the car is my heaving angry breaths. _He knows I’m right_. I continue to glare at Negan, observing the ticking in his jaw as he stares straight ahead. I’m sick of waiting for him to say something so I push further and continue the argument, making my displeasure clear. 

“You lied to my face, Negan,” I bark angrily. “What the fuck were you doing talking business with Lucky tonight? You were supposed to get out of the mob, not cozy up to them.” 

“Don’t talk about shit you don’t know anything about, kid,” Negan roars. “What I discuss when you’re not around is none of your damn concern. I never lied to you.” 

_He can’t be serious_. His demeaning nickname rubs me the wrong way and the anger and loudness of my words increase. “Oh, you never lied to me? Really? So telling me you were gonna get out wasn’t a lie, then? Coulda fooled me. And it _is_ my concern actually. You can’t make decisions that affect my life and just expect me to go along with it.” 

“Lucky is just doing me a favor,” he contends. “Don’t fuckin’ jump to conclusions there, darlin’. I’m just doin’ what’s in your best interest.” My hands shake in rage and my skin itches at the sound of Negan’s annoyingly calm tone. 

“Do _not_ treat me like I’m a goddamn idiot. Don’t tell me you’re doing this for me when you’re doing the _exact_ opposite of what you promised. I _know_ how this shit works. No one in this fucking organization just does you a favor. There’s _always_ something in return, there’s _always_ a debt to be paid.” 

“I’m tellin’ you,” Negan warns, “you don’t know shit, Isabella." 

"No, I do actually. I know you went behind my back and got yourself involved deeper with these people. I know you lied to me, so thank you for that, really…I appreciate it. And I know I don’t trust you.” The volume of my voice raises the longer I carry on, my emotions getting the better of me. “I can’t do this if you aren’t honest with me. If I’m just wasting my time with you, Negan, tell me now.” 

I see Negan gripping the steering wheel with frightening force as he breathes deeply several times. “Fuckin’ Christ,” he grumbles under his breath before his irate voice rings out. “I went to Lucky for some fuckin’ protection. And in exchange for that, I need to work with him. I really don’t give a shit what you fuckin’ think about it, I need to deal with these people to keep you safe. Until everything blows over, I have to stay. This gettin’ out shit isn’t just gonna happen overnight, sorry to shatter your perfect, naïve little dreams, Princess.” 

My nostrils flare at the sound of Negan’s condescendingly spoken words and I grind my teeth together, trying to control my temper. _He has some fucking nerve talking to me like that_. My heart rate is through the roof due to my outrage and having Negan treat me like my anger is irrational has me worrying that I’m about to go into cardiac arrest. 

“I’m not gonna do this,” I voice with a surprisingly calm tone. “I can’t. I don’t wanna spend my whole life terrified, constantly looking over my shoulder just waiting for something bad to happen. Stop the car, Negan.” 

Negan ignores my request and continues speeding down the road. I call out to him again and by the time I tell him to pull over for a third time, I’m screaming. The racket I’m making finally gets to Negan and he reciprocates my raised voice with a yell of his own. “Calm the fuck down, stop actin’ like a goddamn psycho.” 

“You’re a fuckin’ asshole,” I retort coldly as I unbuckle my seatbelt and place my hand on the door. “Let me the fuck out of the car, I’m going home.” 

“I’m already takin’ you home, so sit the fuck back,” Negan commands. 

I turn to regard him over my shoulder, resentment burning full force in my eyes. “ _No_ , I’m going home, back to where I was living a normal life before I got landed here with _you_ ,” I spit viciously. With that, I grip the handle and open the door of the moving car slightly. If Negan won’t stop the car so I can get out, I’m more than ready to just tuck and roll. 

“Don’t be a fuckin’ idiot,” Negan growls through gritted teeth as he grabs my arm. With my hands still on the door, the force of Negan pulling me back slams the door shut again. I immediately rip my limb from his grip, slapping his hand away from me. 

“Don’t touch me,” I hiss. “You’re a piece of shit, Negan.” 

“And you’re a frigid fuckin’ bitch, so we make a great pair, sweetheart. Now sit there and shut up, you aren’t goin’ anywhere. You _need_ me. Lord knows you can’t take care of yourself out there, you’re dead without me.” I flinch at Negan’s words, feeling physically burned by the venom in his voice and the insinuation behind his statement. I barely stop myself from extending a hand to slap him across the face with every ounce of force I can manage. 

Instead, in a moment of profound rage, I reach down to yank the piece of jewelry off of my ring finger and fling it harshly against the dashboard. The tiny metallic _plink_ that resounds as the ring bounces back and falls to the floor at my feet isn’t nearly as satisfying as I had hoped it would be. 

Before Negan can acknowledge my admittedly immature action, the car is illuminated with the bright reflection of the headlights from a large SUV travelling too close behind us. In the heat of our little spat, neither of us had noticed the vehicle trailing us for the duration of our drive. I don’t have time to react to that fact as the truck behind us revs it’s engine with a roaring commotion and inches impossibly closer. 

In a split second, the accelerating vehicle shifts slightly into the other lane and advances on us with excessive speed, smashing into the left side of the rear fender with enough force to make Negan lose control of the car. There isn’t even time for me to make a sound as the Impala goes careening off the side of the road.


	41. Crash This Train

The front end of the car crashes forcefully into the guardrail, causing the right side of the fender to catch onto the steel structure. The impact causes the Impala to pitch sideways and flip over the rail, landing on its roof. Without my seatbelt to restrain me, my body is tossed around inside the vehicle and as the car lurches down the embankment, I’m flung like a ragdoll through the cracked windshield. The already weakened glass shatters easily when I hit it and by some miracle, the rolling vehicle manages to barely avoid crushing me as it continues down the small incline before coming to rest against the trunk of a massive tree.

Sprawled across the damp forest floor, my ears are ringing and drowning out any surrounding noise. As my foggy head clears, I hear the screeching sound of a car slamming on it’s brakes. My body remains motionless on the ground before I begin registering various points of pain blossoming all over. Most noticeably is the throbbing in my head and the sharp pain shooting through my left arm from when I’d landed on it after being thrown from the car. I struggle to sit up and I’m hit with a wave of nausea as I feel a warm stream of blood trickling down my face and dripping onto my chest. I swallow thickly and try to get my bearings as I turn to look at the overturned wreck settled against the tree near the bottom of the embankment. I can feel wet leaves sticking to my bare legs as I shift position to face toward the car. 

Fear threatens to suffocate me as I neither hear nor see any movement from inside the vehicle. On my hands and knees, I drag myself clumsily down the small hill, careful not to put any weight on my ailing wrist. My knees scrape painfully across the sticks and brush, but I don’t slow my movements. The sound of the crunching leaves under my shifting form is almost deafening in the eerily silent night. When I approach the car, I’m immediately hit with the odor of gasoline. At the sight of a modest billow of smoke rising from the undercarriage of the Impala, I panic and fretfully scoot to the shattered driver’s side window. With the risk of the car going up in flames at any moment, I know I need to get Negan from within the crushed vehicle. 

I wrap my hand around the handle of the mangled door and yank several times with all my strength. Much to my chagrin, the door doesn’t budge – not even a little. I lower myself to the ground and slide partway through the broken window to look inside the car, confirming my suspicion that Negan is unconscious; his body trapped within the seatbelt as his arms dangle loosely with his knuckles resting against the roof of the upturned vehicle, beneath him a puddle of blood is collecting. I can feel the shards of glass cutting through the thin material of my dress to scrape and tear against my skin, but I pay the searing pain no mind. Reaching up, I try fruitlessly to unbuckle the seatbelt holding Negan’s limp form prisoner, but the tension in the belt refuses to let the buckle disengage. With a small, frustrated cry, I use my now bloodied hands to haul myself further into the car until I can reach the glovebox. I know inside I’ll find a pocketknife and I’m hoping the dashboard hasn’t been destroyed extensively enough that I’m unable to open the small compartment. 

Wedging my fingers under the latch, I fumble slightly as the compartment pops open and an avalanche of junk pours out in front of me. I push aside a small pile of papers and numerous empty cigarette cartons until I locate the shiny silver tool. In my shuffling of the rubbish, my fingers land on the ring I’d discarded, somehow it hadn’t gone far in the car’s tumultuous tumble off the road. My eyes fill with tears as I quickly shove the piece of jewelry into my pocket of my jacket. 

I turn over onto my back to shimmy my way back out of the car, stopping when I’m beneath Negan’s hanging body. I flick the blade open and immediately set to cutting through the seatbelt. I realize I can’t put enough force behind my slicing at this angle, so I extract myself from the car and settle onto my knees, reaching in through the busted window to access the taut belt. All my writhing and rolling has my dress hiked almost all the way up to my hips, but my exposed skin is the least of my worries. As it dawns on me just how hurt Negan is, I feel a sob bubbling up in my throat. The more I exert myself attempting to free him, the harder it is for me to hold back. I let out a distraught yell as the tears start to flow freely down my bloody cheeks. I saw back and forth in desperation as several hopeless cries leave my lips. 

Finally, the last threads of the unrelenting material snap and I barely manage to stop Negan’s heavy body from crashing down head-first. With my arm braced beneath his neck and shoulders, I fight to get a grip around his midsection. Eventually, I’m able to wrap my other arm around his slim waist and I laboriously drag his fragile form through the small window. When I’ve finally extracted Negan’s body from the carnage of our accident and pulled him fully into my arms, I’m able to scan my eyes over him in the dim moonlight shining from above. His white shirt is stained almost entirely red and his elegant face is marred with a smattering of lacerations – some shallow and some worryingly deep. There’s so much blood pouring from a wound on his head that I almost can’t tell the extent of the damage on his face. Before I have a moment to try to tend to Negan’s serious wounds, I hear the sound of crunching leaves behind me. 

A tiny wave of relief blankets me at the thought that someone has come to help. When I turn to regard the person coming to my aid, that thought quickly disappears. Making their way down from the road above are Richie and a suited man smoking a cigar. My breath catches in my throat, I know I have no escape; I can’t leave Negan’s side. If they are going to kill me, they’ll have the perfect opportunity. When the two men reach me, I open my mouth to speak, but I’m promptly cut off. 

“Shh, shh, shut up,” Richie commands, holding up a hand to quiet me. “Don’t say a word.” I snap my mouth shut, immediately directing my eyes to the object glinting in his hand. My heart skips a beat as I spy the ice pick clutched in his grasp. _Maybe_ that’s _why they call him the Iceman_. Richie takes several more steps, bringing him nearer to me than I’m comfortable with. I pull Negan’s slack form closer so that his upper body is resting in my lap. I cradle him as tightly as I can, bracing myself defensively over him as my salty tears drip down onto his bloody chest. 

“Ahh, the best part is already over,” Richie sighs. “The hunt, the _challenge_. That’s what I like most. I get no rise out of the kill.” He shrugs his shoulders as if he’s just made a casual statement. “I didn’t think that fucker would go down so easy,” he admits, pointing his sharp ice pick in Negan’s direction. “But…where there’s a will there’s a way, my friend.” 

My whole body is shaking with fear and anger as Richie levels his gaze on me. I know my terror is written all over my face and his extended stare makes me shift uncomfortably. Seeing my apprehension and panic, he offers a chilling grin before addressing me. 

“Don’t worry, sweetcheeks, I don’t kill women and children,” he states in what I assume is meant to be a comforting tone. “You’re gonna be fine. Looks like Ol’ Slugger there ain’t gonna be so lucky. Sorry for the little inconvenience, but I guess we all have to make sacrifices to stay alive, huh.” 

With that, Richie turns and walks away, mumbling something under his breath as he passes by his blonde companion. I tense in alarm when the other man takes a number of steps toward me, though my fear multiplies when I watch him lift his arm to toss his lit cigar toward the damaged car. I turn in horror as the wreckage is immediately engulfed in blazing flames due to the apparent gasoline leak I smelled before. As the two men disappear from view, I thread my arms under Negan’s armpits and urgently pull him as fast as I’m capable of, moving away from the growing inferno. 

When I’m too weak and can no longer carry Negan’s weight, I decide we’re far enough away from the flames to be safe and I slump to the ground as I lean my head over his chest. _At least he’s still breathing_. I let out several anguished sobs and let my tears absorb into his tattered and bloody jacket, the acrid, metallic scent of the warmth soaking his clothing wafts up to my nose. I have no way of getting help unless I leave Negan here, but I’m too afraid to abandon him out here, alone and unconscious. I sit up and cradle Negan’s head in my lap, brushing my fingers through his hair gently as I cry uncontrollably. I utilize my strained and broken voice to beg him to be okay, uselessly pleading with him not to leave me. 

I don’t know how long I remain on the ground, hopelessly sobbing over Negan’s lax body when I hear a voice calling from the road above. Without bothering to turn around, I merely hunch over Negan and place a tear-soaked kiss to his forehead. Expecting the approaching voice behind me to belong to Richie, returning to finish us off, I brace myself for our imminent demise. At the sound of nearing footsteps, I finally turn, my eyes falling upon a strange man displaying a deeply shocked expression. He immediately turns to someone standing in the distance and yells an instruction to call 911. 

“Help is on the way, honey,” the older man offers soothingly as he crouches near me. “Are you hurt?” I can’t form words so I only shake my head no. Though I know I’m injured and need help, I’m more concerned about Negan’s condition. 

The both of us merely stare down at Negan’s injured body, neither of us sure how to help him. The man removes his jacket, offering it to me to drape over Negan. I’m not sure what he thinks that’s going to do for Negan’s injuries, but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless. 

“I’m sure your friend is gonna be okay, they’ll be here soon and they’ll take care of him.” I let out a sound somewhere between a scoff and a sob at the man’s words before I finally find my voice. 

“He’s…he’s my fiancé,” I force out through a sob, not really sure why I feel the need to make that clarification. The awkward quiet between us is broken by the shrill cry of the approaching ambulance. 

Within a few minutes, I can see the flashing lights of the emergency vehicle reflecting off the trees and I pray they’ve made it here in time. I hear several voices and the shuffling of feet through the brush as they make their way down to us. I protest loudly when the EMT’s pry me away from Negan. Too weak to put up much of a fight, I stand off to the side as I watch them lift Negan onto a backboard and speedily carry him up to the ambulance parked on the road. 

I carry my sore body as fast as I can and follow them back to their vehicle. When I approach and try to get in, they stop me, informing me that I can’t ride to the hospital due to Negan’s urgent condition. With a final word that there will be another ambulance sent for me, the EMT slams the back door and the ambulance takes off. I drop to my knees, sobbing as I watch the ambulance disappear into the night, taking my heart with it. 

Thankfully, the second ambulance arrives just as the first is fully out of sight and I immediately climb in to be whisked to the hospital right behind Negan. I don’t remember the entirety of the trip to the hospital, nor do I remember the poking and prodding I’d undergone on the way. All I know is I’m climbing out of the ambulance – against the advice of the disgruntled EMT – and running after the gurney being wheeled through the doors and into the hospital. My chest tightens painfully when the words of the EMT straddling Negan’s bloody form reach my ears. 

“Code blue! I’ve got no pulse,” the young technician calls out as he begins furiously pumping against Negan’s chest from his braced position above him. I can hear an agonizing scream and it takes me a moment to realize the sound is coming from my own mouth. I follow the flurry of movement into the hospital and down the fluorescent-lit hallway to a set of double doors before a serious looking nurse stops me with an arm braced against my chest. 

“Ma'am you can’t go in there, you have to stay out here,” she informs me in a business-like tone. I refuse to listen to her words and try futilely to push past her, screaming and sobbing that I need to be with Negan. 

The sound of my own screeching and gut-wrenching cries are ear-splitting, but I’m powerless to stop the noise gushing past my lips. _I can’t lose him, I fucking can’t_. Overwhelmed by my misery, my knees give out and I fall into the nurse’s supportive arms and collapse to the ground. I brace my hands against the cold tile floor and lean my head atop them as I weep endlessly. Curling into myself in torment, I’m unable to watch the group of EMT’s and doctors work tirelessly over Negan’s lifeless body as they disappear deeper into the hospital.


	42. This Is Gonna Hurt

After my spectacle of a public meltdown, the nurse – whose name I learned is Tara – helped me to my feet and dragged me into an empty examination room. I hadn’t made it easy for her, though in my weakened and emotional state, I was powerless to stop her pushy behavior and eventually conceded to having a seat in the bright, sterile room. I was so preoccupied with my distress over Negan that my body had grown numb to the pain burgeoning from my various wounds. Tara’s methodical prodding with her chilly fingers certainly brought my injuries to my attention, though.

I sat in silence as she anesthetized my head with a sharp injection and stitched the laceration along my hairline. My face twisted in discomfort as she examined my left wrist and swathed it in a soft cast after determining that I’d only suffered a severe sprain. Aside from a concussion, a small head wound, lots of superficial cuts, a sprain and some serious bruising and soreness, I’d somehow managed to escape from the accident mostly unharmed. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for Negan. Through the entirety of my examination and treatment, I’d begged Tara to tell me where Negan was and asked her repeatedly to let me see him. She informed me that I wouldn’t be allowed to see him at _least_ until the doctors could stabilize him, but she assured me that she would get an update as soon as she could before leading me back to the lobby of the hospital. 

That was nearly 3 hours ago and I’m still perched in an uncomfortable vinyl upholstered chair, waiting endlessly with no news. I’ve spent the past few hours watching people come and go, seeing doctors both leaving and turning up for their shifts; perking up every time the doors at the end of the hall swing open, hoping it’s Tara returning to tell me anything on Negan’s condition. In an attempt to distract myself, I begin to pull all the leaves, sticks, and other bits of debris from the dark material of my ruined dress; piling the detritus on the chair next to my own. I tear my heels from my sore feet and brush the dirt from them before dropping them to the floor with a thud. Continuing my neurotic grooming of my attire, I slip the short leather jacket from my shoulders and gather it into my lap. The sound of a metallic tinkling across the tile floor of the waiting room catches my attention. 

Scanning my eyes quickly over the floor, my gaze falls on the diamond ring that has fallen from my pocket. I swiftly reach out to snatch it up off the floor, cradling the precious piece of jewelry in my shaking hands. Tears instantly begin to spill uncontrollably from my eyes and down my cheeks. Though my thoughts haven’t strayed far from Negan, the sight of his proffered ring is a blatant reminder and brings him to the forefront of my mind. I don’t even want to think about the chance that he might not pull through this; the very idea sends a tidal wave of moisture flowing down my cheeks. My chest tightens and my sore throat constricts at the prospect of losing him and I cradle my head in my hands as I sob quietly in the empty room for several long minutes. 

When I finally manage to pull myself together and calm down a bit, I unstick my bare thighs from my seat and walk to the reception desk to speak with the nurse stationed there. I ask her whether she’d heard anything about Negan or if she had a way to contact Tara for me. Letting me know that she would call and send Tara out to speak to me, she subtly dismisses me away from the desk. I return to my previous loathsome chair and wait for Tara to grace me with her presence. 

Through the blinds covering the window, I can see the sun rising and shining through the trees. My head is throbbing, my eyes are swollen from crying, and all I want is to know if Negan is okay. I compulsively flick my eyes down the hall, anxiously awaiting Tara’s arrival. After countless disappointments at the faces passing through the doors at the end of the hall, I turn my attention to the tv hanging in the corner of the room. I tune in just in time to catch the breaking news story. My jaw pops open slightly as the somber words of the young blonde-haired reporter filter through the room. 

“ _…passengers in the car were taken to a local hospital where they are being treated for their injuries. However, just a mile down the road, police are investigating a second incident they believe may be connected. Around midnight, Miami PD received a call about a second crash. Upon arriving at the scene, they discovered a car with only minor damage; inside, the bodies of two middle-aged men. The police have not yet released the name’s of the victims, but WPLG News has received reports from officers on the scene that the victims have stab wounds consistent with a thin, sharp object such as a screwdriver or an ice pick. The department insists they will be conducting a thorough investigation to determine any possible connection between the incidents_.” 

I watch intently as the television displays various pictures of the Impala I’d been in mere hours ago, as well as the car the two bodies were found in. I immediately recognize the two-tone color of the vehicle driven by the men who stopped to help me and my stomach drops. There’s no way it’s a coincidence; they were killed by Richie for helping me and Negan, there’s no doubt in my mind. Though Richie told me he had no intention of killing me, I suddenly feel at risk and vulnerable sitting alone in the hospital, absolutely unprotected and defenseless. 

Before I have time to fully panic over my peril, the door at the end of the hall swings open to reveal Tara’s serious, tense face. She quickly makes her way over and sits opposite me. The forlorn expression on her face causes my anxiety to skyrocket and I desperately prompt her to tell me straight what is going on, unsure if I’m truly ready to hear what she has to say. 

“His heart stopped when the EMTs brought him in,” she begins softly. I nod my head quickly, acknowledging her statement though I’m already aware of what had happened. “He was clinically dead for about a minute, but they managed to bring him back and he’s been in surgery for the past few hours. He’s alive right now and hopefully they can fix whatever damage he’s sustained and do their best to stabilize him. I’m sorry I can’t tell you much else, legally I’m not permitted to disclose his medical information. I can send his doctor out to speak to you, if you want.” 

I nod my head in acceptance and thank Tara for her help. She pats my thigh gently in a soothing gesture as she stands up and disappears back down the hallway. I lean back in my seat and rub my hands over my filthy, tear-stained face. I’m relieved that Negan is alive, though given Tara’s somber mood, I’m not sure I should get my hopes up that his outcome will be very positive. I look up to see Tara and an older man in a white lab coat approaching me. He reaches a hand out to introduce himself as he takes a seat in the chair Tara had just vacated. 

“I’m Dr. Campbell,” he speaks lowly. “What is your relation to Mr. Giovanzo?” 

“I’m his wife,” comes my immediate deceitful response. 

“Okay, good. Tara filled you in on the general details, I’m sure, but I’ll give you a clearer picture of what we’re dealing with here.” I nod weakly in response as he continues. “As you know, Mr. Giovanzo’s heart stopped upon arrival, however we were able to defibrillate and stabilize him. Once he was stable, we admitted him to surgery to attend to his more serious injuries. Our chief concern was the massive internal bleeding caused by blunt force trauma, likely from a seatbelt or airbag. We got the bleeding under control and administered a blood transfusion to counteract the loss from his injuries. He suffered a pretty severe head wound that’s caused swelling in his brain, so we’ve put him in a medically-induced coma until – hopefully – the swelling goes down.” 

I’m overwhelmed by the extent of Negan’s injuries and the revelation that he’s in a coma. Unsure how to respond or react, I merely stare dumbly in Dr. Campbell’s direction, waiting for him to continue. 

“Other than that, most of his other injuries are minor in comparison. A few broken ribs and a fractured ulna. I know it’s a lot to take in, but assuming that the swelling in his brain lessens and we’re able to wake him from the coma, your husband is going to make it. We won’t know the true extent of his injuries until he’s conscious, but let’s get him through this first and then we can go from there.” 

Dr. Campbell’s emotionless tone does nothing to allay my fears or assure me that he truly believes Negan will survive this. For now, all I care about is that he isn’t dead. That is enough for me. 

“Can I see him?” I whisper faintly. 

“The nurses are moving him into the ICU, but once they’ve set him up in a room I’ll have Tara escort you up,” he offers assuredly. He stands then, in a hurry to get back to his other patients, and I thank him profusely before he turns to leave. 

I glance down again at the ring clenched in my sweaty palm before replacing it on my finger. When I look up, Tara is watching me with a small smile as I slide the jewelry onto my hand before she gestures for me to follow her. I stand with my shoes in hand and plod barefoot across the room, trailing defeatedly behind her. We pass through the doors and she leads me into the elevator, pressing the button for the 8th floor. My fear of elevators adds to my already heightened anxiety and I take a deep breath as the coffin on a string begins to ascend. When the heavy metal doors split open to reveal the barren hallway, I hesitate slightly before stepping out, unsure if I’m ready to face what awaits me when we reach Negan’s room.


	43. Heartbreaking Son Of A Bitch

“Take all the time you need,” Tara whispers, leaving me to stand alone in the doorway of the room. From my vantage point, I can see Negan’s unconscious form laid out under the light blue sheets of the hospital bed. I take several deep breaths before I can force my bare feet to move, carrying me only marginally further into the room before I stop again. _I can do this_.

I feel another onslaught of tears building in my sore eyes as I take in the sight before me. There is a conglomerate of wires and tubes sprouting from various places on Negan’s body. What little of him I can see above the blankets is covered in cuts, bruises, and bandages – including his head. The small room is filled with a symphony of electronic beeps and repetitive whirs from the numerous machines surrounding him and working to keep him alive. 

Gathering the last of my mental strength and composure, I press forward toward Negan, moving sluggishly with feet made of lead. I swallow around the lump in my throat as I approach his bedside to observe his damaged body up close. I reach out a tentative hand, almost too afraid that he’ll break if I touch him. My fingers barely make contact as they lightly skim down the arm not swaddled in a cast, the course hair tickling my fingertips as I touch Negan’s skin. When I drop my shoes to the tile floor and take a seat in the chair situated next to the bed, I wrap my fingers around Negan’s hand; the skin of his palm is much cooler than I’d been expecting. 

Brushing my thumb along the smooth skin on the back of his hand, I let tears fall as I look up at Negan’s face. Even with the bandages and gashes covering his head and the breathing tube inserted between his lips, somehow he looks more peaceful than I’ve ever seen him; for once his face isn’t sullied with a look of anger or fear or worry. I stare at him for a long while, hoping with every fiber of my being that he’ll be okay. I start to wonder whether he will even wake up, whether I’ll ever get the chance to speak to him again. Not wanting to leave my thoughts and feelings unsaid, I sandwich Negan’s large hand between my own as I begin to speak – unsure if he’ll be able to hear me or not, but talking to him regardless. 

“It’s been a crazy couple of weeks, huh?” I start off. “You turned my world upside down and then gave it a good shake. But you know what, I wouldn’t change a second of it. You opened my eyes and made me see things in myself I never would’ve found on my own. You made me fall in love with you when I believed I’d never be able to love another person. I don’t know how I fell for such a narcissistic, stubborn, arrogant idiot, but here I am,” I joke with a tearful laugh. 

With a heavy sigh, I reach a hand up to swipe at the drops of moisture racing down my cheeks. “You are the strongest and most fearless man I’ve ever met in my life, you can pull through this. You have to…you have to live, you have to be okay.” I force my words out through a desperate sob as I lean my forehead against Negan’s arm. 

“You have to fight this. Dammit, don’t you dare fucking give up,” I plead angrily, more tears continue pouring from my eyes. “You said we were gonna be fine. You promised you would protect me. I need you to be okay, Negan. I _need_ you. Please.” 

I lose track of how long I remain hunched over the bed, cradling Negan’s hand in my own when a soft knock sounds from behind me. Sitting up, I stretch slightly and wince at the soreness in my neck and shoulders as I turn around. With a sympathetic smile on her face, Tara strides slowly to my side with a steaming cup of coffee in her hands. Handing me the paper cup, she flicks her eyes over the various machines in the room to check the numbers and information displayed on the screens and monitors. Her blank expression gives nothing away as she returns her gaze to me. 

“Do you have anyone you want me to call? Friends or family?” she implores softly. I consider her words for a moment before responding. 

“No,” I scoff bitterly. “He’s all I have.” Or _had_ , I muse dismally. _I’m alone, I am utterly alone_. 

With a gentle hand on my shoulder, I look up to see pity written all over Tara’s face. “If you need anything at all, you let me know, okay? It’s gonna be alright.” 

When Tara exits the room, I turn my attention back to Negan. I have no intention of leaving his side until he wakes up and I know he’s okay. Suddenly feeling cold in the air-conditioned room, I slide my wrinkled jacket back over my arms. Taking a sip of the shitty, bitter coffee cradled in my hand, I hear the sound of crinkling paper as I smooth the jacket over my body with my other hand. Curiosity and confusion crinkle my face as I check the pockets to find the source of the noise. Sliding my fingers into the fabric, I pull out a little piece of crumpled cardstock. 

As my eyes scan over the small font on the card, I immediately remember Negan’s cousin, Tommy, giving me the card with the instruction to call if I ever needed anything. _I need something now_. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I tap the cracked screen to plug in the digits typed on the paper clutched in my hand and hold the phone to my ear as it rings. Thankfully, Tommy picks up the call fairly quickly. 

“Tommy? It’s Izzie,” I announce with a slight sniffle and a croaky voice. “I need your help. There was an accident and Negan’s in trouble.” 

Giving Tommy the name of the hospital I’m at and not much else information, he tells me to hang tight as he’ll be there shortly. I end the call and stand weakly from my seat. I’m absolutely exhausted, but I’m too anxious and stressed to try getting any sleep. I pace restlessly back and forth at the end of Negan’s bed before making my way to the window at the other end of the room. Parting the blinds, I look out over the crowded parking lot and surrounding forest as my mind reels. 

I wonder if I’m safe here, or anywhere. _Will Richie come back for me? Is he really above killing women?_ Given my history of dealing with the wicked men in the organization, I can’t bring myself to believe his reassurance that he isn’t interested in killing me. I would give anything to have a gun or any sort of weapon really, just for some peace of mind knowing I’m not totally helpless and vulnerable. I won’t feel safe or comfortable unless I have some way to defend myself. Realizing that I have no car and no way back to Negan’s place, I consider calling Tommy back and asking him to bring something for me. I stop myself though, not wanting to raise suspicions and have Tommy hover over me the way Negan always did. 

Turning back to face Negan, I find myself missing his over-protectiveness and regret the fact that I’d ever taken it for granted. Negan had taken care of me and saved my ass more times than I’d ever be able to thank him for, yet I hadn’t been able to do the same for him. _If he survives, will Richie come back to finish him off once and for all? Is he in danger too?_ I laugh to myself at that thought; of course Negan is in danger, his current condition is more than sufficient evidence of that. Now it’s just a matter of whether or not he’s going to be safe being confined here. 

_How long is it going to take for him to be okay again?_ Negan helped me work through and accept my actions and move past the murders I committed, but the fact that someone had targeted him for my kills and I’d been unable to protect him from the consequences of my misdeeds has my guilt slamming into me full force once more. I wish I could’ve protected him, I wish he hadn’t gotten dragged into my issues. I imagine if I had tried harder to push him away, this never would have happened to us; though I know I would never have been able to get rid of him, as pig-headed and stubborn as he is. Knowing I have no way to make this right, I move with lethargy and return to my seat at Negan’s side to recommence my waiting – for Tommy or for any sort of change in Negan’s condition, whichever comes first.


	44. This Is Not Our Fate

It takes less than an hour for Tommy to show up at the hospital, barreling through the door with a bag slung over his shoulder and a distraught look on his face. I raise my head from it’s resting place on the hospital bed and turn at the sound of Tommy kicking the door shut with more force than necessary.

“Shit, sorry,” he apologizes, cringing at the racket. “I brought you a change of clothes, figured you’d wanna get outta that get-up." 

I thank him for the thoughtful gesture as he slides the bag off his shoulder and passes it into my hands. I watch his face as he observes Negan’s broken body in the bed. I see the emotion behind his eyes at the sight of his own blood in such a situation, though he doesn’t visibly or verbally react. 

"I’ll give you a minute, I’m gonna go change,” I offer gently as I stand. I give Tommy’s arm a comforting squeeze as I pass by and head to the bathroom inside the room. Shutting the door behind me, I place the bag Tommy gave me up on the countertop and undo the zipper. Inside I find several articles of clothing that I recognize, determining that he had stopped at Negan’s house to grab some of my clothes on the way over. Glad to have something of my own to change into, I pull out an old, worn cotton band t-shirt and a pair of comfortable leggings and slide them slowly over my sore body. I quickly splash some cold water over my face, hoping the refreshing chill will wake me up a little. Digging deeper into the bag, I find a pair of Converse sneakers and slip them on, grateful to have more comfortable shoes on my feet. Shoving my filthy, ruined outfit into the bag, I throw it over my shoulder and head back into the room. 

Rounding the corner out of the bathroom, I see Tommy perched in the chair next to Negan and I hear him murmuring lowly. I lean against the wall, far enough away that I can’t make out his words clearly. I wait for a few minutes, giving him time to finish saying whatever he needs to at Negan’s bedside. When he stops speaking, I clear my throat gently to alert him to my presence as I cross the room. I stop him when he moves to rise from the single chair in the room, telling him to stay put as I perch myself along the edge of the mattress toward Negan’s feet. 

“You know, Negan told me all about you,” Tommy announces softly. “Motherfucker couldn’t shut up about ya. He’s crazy about you, kid." 

I give him a tiny smile as embarrassment colors my cheeks. "I’m crazy about him, too.” 

“I appreciate you staying here with him,” he states seriously. “Most broads woulda turned tail at the first sign of trouble, but here you are. You know loyalty goes a long way with guys like us." 

I nod my head in acknowledgement of his statement, meeting his eyes and seeing the sincerity in his gaze. Silence surrounds us for a moment before I decide to open up to Tommy. 

"We were fighting before the accident,” I admit with a whisper. “Now I’m wondering if it’s my fault we crashed. If I’d just kept my mouth shut or not been angry with him in the first place, we wouldn’t have been arguing. If he was paying attention to the road, we would’ve seen the car following us." 

At my utterance, Tommy’s face crinkles in confusion and I can clearly see the question swimming in his eyes before he even manages to speak. “Richie ran us off the road. I guess he was pissed about what Negan did,” I suggest. 

All at once, I remember Negan’s revelation of Richie’s relation to Sy and I wonder whether Tommy is also aware of their familial connection and knows the true motive behind Richie’s attack. If in fact he does share in the knowledge, he makes no mention of it and his expression remains neutral. I sigh heavily and I feel Tommy’s warm touch on my knee as he squeezes my leg in reassurance. He regards me wordlessly, allowing me to continue pouring my heart out. 

"It’s so stupid. Why was I even mad? I _knew_ what I was getting into. I know who he is and what kind of shit comes along with it. I know better than to think we can run off and live happily ever after just like that, that isn’t how any of this works,” I rant. “I know how hard it is to get away from this life, yet I still got pissed at him. I was _such_ a bitch.” 

My emotions get the better of me and I find myself crying _again_ ; I seemed to be doing that a whole lot since meeting Negan. Tommy comforts me silently as I stew over the things I’d said to Negan and how I’d basically reneged on my acceptance of his marriage proposal. Our argument was petty and childish and I feel really shitty for going at him for something I should have been more understanding of. I feel even more shitty knowing that I can’t even apologize to him, and maybe won’t ever have the chance to do so. My guilt chokes me up at that thought, I would never be able to live with myself if I have to leave things this way with Negan. I’ll never forgive myself if the venomous words I spit at him in that damned Impala are going to be the last I ever speak to him. 

“What if he doesn’t wake up? What if we lose him?” I sob pathetically. Tommy stands then, placing a gently hand under my chin to turn my head in his direction. 

“Hey, don’t talk like that, kid,” he admonishes. “It’s gonna be okay. Our boy is tough as shit. Plus, if what you said is true, he’s not going anywhere. That motherfucker is too damn stubborn to die without coming back to ream your ass for disrespecting him.” 

I can’t stop the small laugh that bubbles from my mouth at Tommy’s jibe. His humor makes me feel just a little bit better, though I can’t help the feeling of dread still welling up in the pit of my stomach. 

“He’s not gonna leave you, Izzie,” Tommy assures me adamantly as he pulls me into a tight hug. I lean into the embrace, glad to have someone to help me through this shit. We hold each other for a few long minutes before separating as Tommy speaks. 

“Let me give you a ride back to Negan’s place, you look like you can use some sleep,” he offers. 

“No, I can’t,” I counter. “I can’t go anywhere, he might wake up. Something might happen while I’m gone.” 

“Izzie, you need to get some sleep. You’ve had a long, hard night. You need to take care of yourself.” 

“I’m not going,” I retort, raising my voice slightly. “I’m not leaving him.” 

Tommy sighs in frustration at my refusal before raising his own voice. “Nothing is gonna change, not any time soon. And if it does, someone will call us, okay? We have a long road ahead of us and letting yourself fall apart is only gonna make it harder for you, kid. So get your stubborn ass up and let me take you home. Get some sleep and I’ll bring you back after you rest. Deal?” 

Finally relenting, I hop down off the bed and lean over to grab my bag of clothes from the floor as Tommy makes his way to the door. Before I leave, I place a gentle kiss to Negan’s bandaged forehead and whisper that I love him, hoping he can hear me. I turn to find Tommy watching me from the doorway with a small smile on his face. Wrapping an arm around my shoulder, we walk together down the long hall to the elevators and out of the hospital. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

Opening my eyes to a dark room, I struggle to determine where I am. I vaguely remember getting home just as the sun reached it’s highest point in the sky. I’d taken a blazing hot shower in an attempt to relax my ailing body, but still had to fight against my internal clock to get some rest. I wonder why my head is so foggy before remembering that I’d taken a few sleeping pills after tossing and turning for several hours. Sitting up, I throw the blankets off and slide out of the bed. I have no idea what time of day it is thanks to the black-out curtains hanging in front of all the windows in the room. I grab an old t-shirt and a worn pair of jeans, sliding them over my exhausted and sore limbs. Padding swiftly across the soft carpet, I creak the door open and step into the hallway to make my way downstairs. 

I find Tommy sitting on a tall barstool at the kitchen counter, scrolling through the phone cradled in his hand. He looks as tired as I feel and I doubt he’d taken the liberty of getting some sleep as I had. The stressed look adorning his face accentuates the deep, dark circles surrounding his eyes and I take pity on him. 

“Any news?” I question as I take a seat on a stool next to him. I glance up at the clock hanging in the kitchen and notice just how long I’ve been asleep. It’s nearly 10am now, which means I’d slept through the entirety of the previous day. Noting the exhaustion on his face, I wonder how long Tommy has been awake for and what he’s been doing while I was sleeping. 

“Nothin’, no change,” he responds blandly. I’m both disappointed and relieved at his answer; Negan’s condition hasn’t improved, but no change also means it hasn’t deteriorated either, which I am glad for. 

I sit in silence as Tommy continues tapping away at the screen of the small device in his hand. The quietude in the room leaves me with too easy an opportunity to get caught up in my own head, though I can’t bring myself to start up a conversation. That is until I remember Negan’s odd introduction of his cousin. 

“So why do they call you Terrible Tommy?” I question, a sliver of sarcasm coloring my inquisitive tone. Tommy’s speedy fingers halt in their movement, hovering over the screen of his phone as he turns slowly to regard me from the corner of his eye. 

“If I told you, I’d have to kill ya,” he responds. Though his voice carries a heavy amount of humor, I can tell the topic truly isn’t up for discussion. 

“Is killing people how you got the name?” I prod, deciding to annoy him just a little. 

When Tommy turns to fully face me and sees the shit-eating grin splitting my face, he reciprocates with a smug smile of his own before returning his attention to his phone. I consider pushing the subject further to see if I can get a real answer, but determine Tommy’s evasive response is answer enough. Instead, I drift away into my thoughts as I absentmindedly fiddle with the diamond ring circling my finger. 

“You kids still gonna get hitched once this is over?” Tommy wonders, not looking up as he notices my distracted action. 

“Yeah, I hope,” I sigh. “If he forgives me for being an asshole. And if he ever wakes up.” 

“He will, don’t you worry your pretty little head,” he declares. “Everything is gonna work out aces for you two lovebirds.” 

“You think so?” I ask with a crooked smirk. 

“Fuck, it _better_. I got you a wedding gift and it kinda seems like a waste if there ain’t no wedding,” he gripes. 

I laugh lightly at his offended tone, surprised by his statement. “Did you really get us a gift? I didn’t think anyone even knew we were getting married.” 

“How could I _not_ know?” Tommy jokes, “Negan wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it. I’m just shocked someone finally managed to get to him. You wiggled your way in and convinced him to settle down, it’s a damn miracle.” 

“Well, now I’m intrigued. What’s the gift?” I implore him with a grin, trying not to pay any mind to his comment about Negan. 

Tommy regards me with a skeptical look. “Do you know how gifts work, kid? It’s supposed to be a surprise. No fun if I give it away. C'mon, I’ll show ya.” 

With that, Tommy hops off his stool and grabs my hand to pull me from my own. I struggle to keep up with his enthusiastic, high-speed steps, nearly stumbling over my own feet as he tugs me toward the front of the house. Stopping outside the door that leads out into the garage, he turns to regard me over his shoulder. 

“Now, it’s not much, but something tells me you’re gonna love it,” he promises slyly. 

Dying of curiosity, I bounce on the balls of my feet and tell Tommy to open the door so I can see whatever surprise he has in store. When he grips the handle of the door and swings it open to reveal the dimly lit garage, my jaw nearly drops to the floor. 

I quickly recover and snap my mouth shut as a bevy of emotions course through me. I take in the sight of the garage; from the small area I can see, the room has been emptied, save for a large sheet of plastic blanketing the floor and a single chair centered on the concrete. A chair upon which sits the tied up and slumped form of none other than Richie Kuklinski.


	45. You Get What You Give

“So whaddya think? Pretty good gift, huh?” Tommy prods with humor in his voice. I can’t tear my eyes away from the man seated in the chair, my mind cataloging all the terrible, vindictive things I want to do to him. As rage courses through me, my limbs begin to vibrate slightly.

Without responding to Tommy, I turn on my heel and stride hastily back down the hallway, ignoring the sound of his booming voice calling after me. When I reach the door of Negan’s office, I whip it open and pace to the mahogany desk at the other end of the room. Behind the desk sits a tall piece of furniture, though the doors of the massive cabinet are locked. It doesn’t take much reaching to figure out what’s in there and that my means of gaining access are located somewhere in the room. Digging through various drawers in Negan’s desk, I finally locate a small silver key and turn to the large, wooden armoire situated just past the desk. Sliding the key into the lock sealing the doors, I twist my wrist and the lock gives way with a sweet, metallic scrape. I swing the doors open and scan my eyes over the shelves and inner panels containing a diversity of weapons – knives, pistols, automatic rifles, switchblades and most importantly, the infamous barbed wire-wrapped Louisville Slugger. Unbeknownst to Negan, I’d guessed the contents of the secure cabinet the very moment I laid eyes upon it; it’s not as if it was a difficult deduction, I’d have to be an idiot not to realize this armoire accommodates his arsenal. I smile to myself as I take in the pristine and well-kept collection of deadly tools, knowing it’s Negan’s pride and joy. 

Wrapping my right hand around the wooden handle Negan’s weapon of choice, I also grab the massive 17 inch Z-Hunter blade from one of the shelves and tuck the sheathed weapon into my waistband before slamming the cabinet doors shut. With vengeance and fury blazing through me, I swing the barbed bat up onto my shoulder and march purposefully out of the room, anger fueling my every step. I meet Tommy partway back to the garage and he regards me with a questioning look as I slip silently past him to grab my boots from next to the front door. 

I reach the garage, immediately stepping through the threshold with Tommy close behind me. Now fully inside, I see that the room has been almost completely emptied aside from the tools on the bench along the wall, a few boxes in the corner and a sleek black motorcycle tucked right against the garage’s overhead door. Propping the bat against the wall, I make my way over to Richie’s slumped form. Grabbing a hold of his hair, I yank his head back harshly. With my free hand, I lightly slap his cheek a few times attempting to wake him. After administering several harder slaps, he finally comes to. Richie’s eyes are bleary and his expression gives away his confusion. Tilting his head further back, I note the dried blood originating from his temple where I assume Tommy had hit him and knocked him out. When Richie is mostly conscious, I see the moment he recognizes me as I tower over him. 

“Well, well, well. Look who it is,” he drawls. 

The sound of his voice sends a spear of anger through my body and I yank the hair gripped in my fist in an effort to shut him up. I stare coldly into Richie’s eyes for a long moment, deciding how I want to handle this. Common sense tells me not to make a decision when I’m so pissed off, but given what Richie has done to Negan, there will _never_ be a point where the very sight of him won’t enrage me. 

“How’s Negan? I can only assume he’s still alive since you haven’t killed me already,” Richie jibes with an irritating smirk. His taunting words cause a powerful surge in my hunger for vengeance. Using my free hand, I throw a hard punch, tilting my hips to put all of my weight behind the blow. Pain blooms across my bony knuckles, though that doesn’t prevent me from swinging my arm back again and catching Richie right across the bridge of his nose. I nearly smile at his grunt of pain as a stream of blood flows quickly down his face and across his parted lips. I ram my fist into his face several more times until I feel the thin skin across my knuckles split open. _I’m going to have so much fun with you_ , I muse as he looks up at me with anger in his dark eyes. 

“You know, I would tell you to shut up, but whether or not you do…I’m still gonna fuck you up,” I offer in a bored tone. “I promise you it will be much worse if you keep running your mouth, though.” 

Richie regards me with a slow smile spreading across his olive-toned face. I can already tell by his expression that he isn’t taking my warning seriously. I prepare myself for what I know is coming – he’s going to open his mouth again and I am going to make damn sure he regrets it. 

“You aren’t gonna do shit, sweetcheeks. Ya ain’t got it in you. It’s a real shame Negan hasn’t trained his little puppy better, what a waste,” he laments with a sigh. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance.” 

The moment the snarled words leave his chapped lips, I bring my leg up and slam my booted foot between his legs as hard as I physically can. The expression on Richie’s face and the agonized howl of pain as I trample his nuts is _exquisite_. I continue to mash my heavy shoe against his crotch until beads of sweat begin to roll down his forehead. 

Finally easing off my brutal attack, I step closer to Richie, bending slightly as I lean close to his face before I speak. “You’re right, you _should’ve_ killed me when you had the chance. And you are going to regret having not done exactly that. But seriously…no threatening me, I can’t have that. No, I certainly cannot,” I muse aloud with a dramatic sigh. “We’re gonna spend some quality time together, you and I. And when I’m done, you’re going to wish you were never born. You make another comment like that last one and I’m gonna cut you a new smile,” I murmur icily, my voice now empty of emotion. I step away and begin to circle the imprisoned man as I launch into a disturbingly Negan-like monologue. 

“Yanno, I really don’t get it. You motherfuckers all want revenge so bad for every little thing, yet you’re too busy walking around with your heads up your asses to actually get it done right,” I state in a mocking tone, gesturing fluidly as I pace around like a waiting predator. “You had every chance to kill Negan. You had the element of surprise, you could’ve snatched his ass up and done all manner of gruesome things to avenge your uncle’s death. But no, you gave yourself away; you showed your hand and played yourself, dude. And even then…God knows you still had the skill and power and connections to have killed him easily, yet you decided to take your chances and just run him off the road and hope the crash would kill him.” I halt my circular marching to stand directly in front of Richie as I regard him with falsified confusion. 

“It’s weak, really. Waiting for him to be off guard like that before you struck. Such a cowardly move. If you wanted him dead so badly, why not just do it yourself, one-on-one? Why not face him like a man, make sure he was dead for sure?” I stride forward with slow but sure steps as Richie raises his gaze to stare up at my looming form. “You know what I’m thinkin’? ‘Cause I got an idea.” 

I stoop slightly, angling my body to whisper forcefully in Richie’s face with close proximity, flecks of saliva spraying with my angrily hissed words. “It’s because…Ya. Got. No. Guts.” With that, I swiftly wrap my slim fingers around the handle of the knife pressing against my hip and with incredible speed, plunge the extensive blade deeply into Richie’s stomach. My quick movement catches him off guard and I watch as it takes him several seconds to register what has just happened. His eyes stretch open widely as I turn my wrist minutely and start to twist the huge blade inside his abdomen. Moving rapidly again, I extend my arm in an outward direction, dragging the knife horizontally and slicing Richie open like a filleted fish. I watch with twisted and disgusting satisfaction as his massacred internal organs start to spill from the tremendous gash I’ve created. He squirms awkwardly in the chair as he tries to free his bound hands, likely in a pathetic and useless attempt to cradle his escaping intestines. 

“How _embarrassing_ ,” I announce, waving the dripping knife with a dramatic flourish. “There they are, they were inside of you the whole time! You _did_ have guts, I’ve never been so wrong in my whole life!” My voice raises in volume as I put on a sick display of enthusiasm at the gory and mangled sight of the man bleeding out in front of me. 

Though my savage act has gotten my point across rather clearly, I want to make sure to _really_ drive it home. Grasping the sweaty and slick skin of his jaw, I lift Richie’s face and meet his eyes with my own fiery gaze. “Whatever you do, no matter what, you absolutely cannot touch me. I will always come out on top,” I warn lowly. “Let me explain something to you. It’s really very simple so, even if you’re stupid – which you very well may be – you can understand it. Are you ready? Here goes, pay attention,” I prompt in a sarcastic tone. “You do _not_ touch what’s mine. I just want you to understand that, okay?” I prompt in an eerily calm and soothing tone as I drop the knife with a sharp metallic clatter. “How _dare_ you try to take him from me. Ultimately, you failed…but you’re still gonna pay the price for trying to cross me.” With a fiendish grin, I’m filled with glee as Richie’s face pales, his eyes start to roll back in his head, and his desperate inhalations become more and more shaky. 

“I want you to know something before you die because, let’s face it, ain’t no comin’ back from this…your insides are in your lap and it’s gross as _shit_! Anyway, I need you to know,” I move my lips right beside his ear before confessing, “I’m the one who killed your uncle. Shot that motherfucker in the face and blew his brains _right_ out the back of his head, it was a _real_ mess.” I lean back, scanning over Richie’s face to observe his reaction. I’m a little disappointed in his lack of anything notable in his expression, but considering that he is sitting here with a lap full of wet, slippery entrails, the small wrinkle of concern on his forehead is enough for me. 

“I never wanted to be this person, truly. I’m not a killer, that’s just not me,” I proclaim honestly as I finally release my grip on his jaw to place it lightly against my chest in a gesture of sincerity. “But it’s like you said…we all have to make sacrifices to stay alive, right? When my life and the life of the person I love is threatened, you best believe I’m going to take down any motherfucker stupid enough to lay a finger on us,” I promise with a chummy slap to his slumped shoulder. 

Some unknown sadistic desire overcomes me and I reach down towards the sloppy, crimson mass slathered across Richie’s thighs. I dig my hand deep into the warm, oozing heap and clench my fingers around whatever I can grab in my small fist. “You and your piece of shit uncle got what you deserved. I _win_ ,” I snarl as I yank harshly, strewing his now torn intestines across the concrete floor. All he can manage is a pained gasp as his mouth flops open and shut like a fish out of water. I release my grip on the dripping viscera grasped in my hand and drop it to the ground with a wet slap. I can feel warmth soaking into my clothing from the spray of blood that coated me when I quite literally ripped Richie apart. 

I watch with rapt interest as his head lolls around limply before tilting backwards with a weak flop; my gaze is glued to his face as I see the life finally leave his eyes. With blood still dripping from my hand, I reach out to grip his face. “Fuck you,” I spit at the lifeless body before dropping his head from my grip with a disgusted push. 

“Feel better, kid?” Tommy implores from behind me, his words just barely tinged with shock. The sound of his voice startles me as I’d forgotten he was even in the room with me. I whip around quickly to face him, suddenly worried about how he’d react to the events he’s just been a spectator to. Now facing the half of the room behind me, the spiked bat perched against the wall catches my eye. 

“Not yet,” I admit as I stride quickly to snatch the forgotten bat from the corner. Wrapping both hands around the smooth grain of the handle, I test the weight of the weapon in my hands. While it isn’t heavy enough to be burdensome, it’s certainly heavy enough to feel powerful. Embracing that feeling of power, I plant my feet near the chair in the center of the room and swing the bat up over my right shoulder. Adjusting my grip and perfecting my braced stance, I take a deep breath before throwing all my weight into my forceful swing as I bring the bat around and slam it against Richie’s skull. The moist _thwack_ that echoes through the room is both repulsive and pleasing. I return the bat to it’s previous position above my shoulder before repeating my motions. 

For several minutes, I spend all of my energy funneling my anger into the brutal swings against Richie’s obliterated body. Focusing less on his already caved in skull, I make sure to pulverize his entire body. Though I know he can’t feel any of the blows I administer – even if he absolutely deserves it – I still attain some sort of gratification as I turn his body into something resembling a pile of bloody ground beef. When there is hardly any solid flesh for me to take my rage out on, I lower my arms and rest the bat against the blood coated concrete. Breathing in deeply due to my exertion, the heavily metallic-scented air fills my lungs as I take a moment to admire my handiwork, feeling proud and fulfilled. 

“Did ya get him?” Tommy asks sarcastically after observing my vicious actions. 

It was probably overkill, but Richie’s misstep was enough to merit these consequences and no one would be able to convince me otherwise. I spin to face Tommy with a small smile on my face. Thankfully, he is accustomed to this level of violence and barbarity so I know he understands my measures, especially given my motivation. With the bat still dangling from my fingers, I pace over to Tommy with pep in my step. 

“Now I know why Negan loves this thing so much,” I utter with appreciation. I swing the bat up so it’s positioned between the two of us where we can both clearly observe the blood-soaked surface. “I’m gonna go clean her up, you got this covered?” I ask, gesturing to the macabre condition of the garage. Tommy confirms that he has it handled and I give him a grateful smile as I step through the doorway. 

Suddenly an idea occurs to me and I stop mid-step to place the bat against the wall in the hallway before I twirl back around to re-enter the garage. I watch as Tommy slides a pistol from Richie’s suit jacket to tuck it into the waistband of his own pants; how disadvantageous that he’d been armed all along, but unable to reach his only form of defense. When Tommy realizes I’ve returned and regards me with a questioning look, I tell him I forgot something, but don’t explain further. Striding over to a small tool box situated against the far wall, I pull out a pair of stainless steel pliers. 

Tommy watches as I approach the bloody mass still atop the chair in the center of the room. The upper portion of Richie’s body is still mostly in tact and I mentally thank myself for not smashing his skull because of what I am about to do. With a firm grip on the upper part of his face, I pry his jaw open and shove the pliers inside. It takes a bit of force and struggling but one by one, I start to yank each of his teeth from both his upper and lower jaw. When I’m done, I’m left with a handful of bloody teeth and I roll them around in my palm, listening to the tiny rattles and clicks as the small bits of bone tumble together in my hand. 

“Cut off his fingers and dump what’s left in the woods,” I command in Tommy’s direction, making sure that the remains are totally unidentifiable in the unlikely event that they are found. I twirl on my heel once more with my dental souvenir in hand as I grab the discarded hunting knife from the floor and exit the room a second time. I snatch up Negan’s trusty bat as I pass by, headed upstairs to clean up the borrowed weapons as well as myself.


	46. Beggars & Hangers On

I glide smoothly through the automatic glass doors of the hospital, making my reluctant return to the loathsome building. I hate hospitals already and having to be in one to visit my perpetually unconscious fiancé is in no way helping my complete distaste for them. I squint my eyes a bit as they adjust to the transition from the growing darkness outside to the obnoxious, glaring lights illuminating the empty lobby and deserted halls. Behind me, I hear the soft footfalls of Tommy as he trails me from a short distance. We’d spent the ride over mostly in silence; with the worry of Negan’s fate weighing on me again, I couldn’t find any words worth exchanging.

I make my way speedily down the hallway as I head straight for the elevator. I wait rather impatiently as I hold the heavy steel door open and wait for Tommy to catch up and join me. I’d much rather take the stairs, but for the sake of convenience I have to face my fear of elevators. When Tommy finally steps into the enclosed space with me, I reach out to depress the corresponding button to the floor where the ICU is located. The small, round button illuminates as the elevator doors slam shut and the car jolts slightly as we begin our ascent. I find myself holding my breath, which I release heavily when we reach the floor and I exit the elevator with haste. 

I hesitate for a moment, trying to remember the number of the room Tara had led me to when I first visited Negan. Tommy murmurs from behind me as he passes by and gestures for me to follow him to the second room on the left side of the hallway. _At least one of us knows where the hell we’re going_. 

Tommy turns the handle on the solid oak door and swings it open before standing aside to let me slip past him into the dim room. I consider flipping the light switch, but I realize there’s no point. Negan obviously isn’t going to need the light and I have no desire to see him more clearly than I already can in the shadowy room. 

“I let the receptionist know we’re here, so she’ll be sending Dr. Campbell up soon,” Tommy announces from my right as we both stand at Negan’s bedside. 

I nod my head in acknowledgement, knowing what meaning lies beyond Tommy’s words. We haven’t received any update on Negan’s condition, so that isn’t what Dr. Campbell will be here to talk to us about. He’s coming to let us know what our options are from this point going forward. As far as I can tell, we don’t have many options. Aside from waiting it out and desperately hoping for an improvement, it’s out of our hands. 

Just then, a light tapping from the doorway prompts me and Tommy both to turn our attention in that direction. Dr. Campbell strolls into the room with a serious though not exactly concerned look on his face. 

“Evening,” he greets shortly as he approaches and lifts the clipboard attached at the foot of the bed. He hums lowly to himself as he peruses the collection of papers gathered on the clipboard, observing Negan’s vitals and scribbling notes here and there. Clearing his throat, Dr. Campbell finally glances up to address us. “There’s been a slight change in his numbers. Nothing major, but as long as it isn’t a decline in his condition, we’re headed in the right direction. We performed a scan earlier this afternoon and thankfully the swelling in his brain has lessened considerably.” 

I breathe a heavy sigh of relief at Dr. Campbell’s words. While I know Negan isn’t out of the woods yet, I know the swelling in his brain was the doctor’s biggest concern. Now that there had been an improvement on that front, we can move on to the next obstacle. I listen intently as Dr. Campbell continues briefing us. 

“Our next course of action at this point will be to reduce the dosage of meds we’re administering. From there, we wait and see if he wakes from the coma. Typically, patients who haven’t had extended exposure to the Propofol will wake on their own within a few hours. It shouldn’t take longer than a day in Mr. Giovanzo’s case,” he asserts. 

“Will he be okay when…if he wakes up?” I ponder, hating the obvious doubt and uncertainty in my question. 

“Well, his other injuries, while severe, are not very concerning. He’s stable enough that everything else should heal fairly quickly. My only worry at this point is any neurological damage we can’t see on the scans. As far as we can tell, his brain hasn’t sustained any serious damage. A severe concussion at most,” Dr. Campbell assures me. “Obviously we can’t tell if that will have any lasting effect on him until he wakes up. For instance, we won’t be able to gauge something like possible memory loss or impaired motor skills until he is conscious and moving.” 

I swallow thickly at the possibility that any of Negan’s injuries could have permanent damage. “How likely is it for him to have memory loss? Will it be temporary, or…?” I leave my implication hanging, not wanting to put voice to the question I want an answer to. 

“Hard to tell, really. Every case is unique. He could be fine, or he could lose his memory entirely or even be a totally different person in general when he wakes. You never know what residual manifestations come with head trauma, we just have to wait,” he states. “We can’t get ahead of ourselves though, you have to take it one step at a time. Before we worry about what his condition will be, first we have to see if he wakes up on his own. We get past that and then we see how he’s doing. Even then, he will have a very long, tough road to recovery ahead of him. I don’t want to give you any false hope, but I also don’t want to make you expect the worst,” he insists. “It’s important to remain optimistic, however you need to be prepared to not see the results you want.” At his words, the small flutter of hope and relief I felt shrivels slightly. I’m not sure if he doesn’t believe Negan will wake up or if he really just wants us to be adequately prepared for his condition not improving. 

Dr. Campbell pulls a stack of stapled papers from his pocket then, along with a silver ball-point pen. “Now, given your individual relations to the patient, either one of you can act as a proxy for decisions regarding his treatment. It’s entirely up to you which one of you will be in charge of that. I’ll just need one of you to sign off on some paperwork before we move any further with Mr. Giovanzo’s medical care.” 

Tommy and I share a look for a moment before either of us speaks. “It’s up to you, kid. I’m fine with whatever you want,” he offers. “He would probably trust your judgement a hell of a lot more than mine, so if you wanna be the one to make the choices then go for it.” 

I consider Tommy’s offer and ultimately accept; as huge of a responsibility as it is, it makes sense for me to be the one in charge of Negan’s care. I take the pen and papers from Dr. Campbell’s hands, though I don’t immediately sign them. I turn to Tommy and ask him for his approval before I ink my signature onto the pages. While I am the final decision maker, I still want to include Tommy and make sure he agrees with the recommended course of treatment for Negan, he is family after all. With Tommy’s concurrence, I sweep the pen smoothly over each page the doctor had passed me, signing my name on each indicated line to approve the continuance of medical care for Negan. I click the pen to detract the tip as I pass it back to the doctor along with the signed stack of papers. 

“Great, thanks,” he utters, tucking the pen and papers into the deep pocket of his stark white lab coat. “So, we can start to wean Mr. Giovanzo off the medication now, however if you want to be here when he wakes, we can wait until tomorrow.” At my quizzical expression, Dr. Campbell explains further as he glances at the fancy gold watch adorning his thick wrist. “Visiting hours are over so if we try to wake him now, you won’t be allowed to stay here with him. I can give you a few minutes of privacy and make sure you won’t be disturbed, but unfortunately you can’t stay.” 

“If he stays in the coma, it won’t affect him at all, right?” I ask. Dr. Campbell nods his head in the affirmative and I make my decision. “Then wait until tomorrow, I want to be here when he wakes up.” Dr. Campbell accepts my answer before stating that we can have a few minutes alone with Negan before we need to go. Shortly after the doctor leaves, Tommy quietly steps out of the room leaving me on my own with Negan. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I observe all the machines and wires still attached to him. Hopefully, by tomorrow some of them will be removed and he’ll look less like a fucking science experiment gone wrong and more like Negan. Focusing my eyes on his face, I scan over all the healing cuts and bruises marring his handsome face. I want to reach out to touch him, but he looks so fragile lying there beaten up and broken that I resist the urge. It absolutely breaks my heart to see him like this and I want nothing more than to be able to look into his warm golden eyes again. _Tomorrow_ , I tell myself, _he’s going to be fine. He’s going to wake up_. 

Needing to reassure myself that Negan is still here with me, I gently take his hand in my own. The slight warmth of his palm comforts me, however microscopic that bit of comfort may be. It’s strange to think how and where this whole mess began, but I am cautiously optimistic in believing that it is over or – at the very least – close to being over. Part of the issue has already been handled, thanks to me. The unwanted reminder of exactly how I handled that issue prompts me to talk quietly to Negan’s unconscious form. I’m still not sure whether he can hear me, but I don’t care. 

“I killed someone. Again,” I announce blandly with a derisive scoff. “I did it for you, for us. He deserved it for trying to kill us,” I rationalize aloud. “Is it fucked up that I think – or at least hope – that you’d be proud of me?” 

I pause momentarily to watch Negan’s face closely. I know it’s useless, but I’m searching for any little indication that he can hear me, that somewhere deep down he’s still in there. I’m not expecting to find anything in all honesty, though that doesn’t prevent the inkling of disappointment I feel when Negan’s visage remains entirely passive and unchanged. 

“You know, I don’t even feel bad,” I admit, continuing my one-sided conversation. “I don’t feel any guilt or regret. I’m just angry. _Still_. I’m still _so_ mad. The fucker is dead and I killed him and things still don’t feel right. I still don’t feel like I got my justice because you’re still stuck here in this fucking bed and who even knows if you’re gonna be okay. It’s not fucking fair,” I rant, my voice taking on a loud and angry edge. 

I’m pretty much okay with what I’ve done to Richie, I won’t feel regret for my actions, however it just doesn’t feel righteous knowing that I might still lose Negan – whether physically or mentally. Sure Richie got his comeuppance, but that doesn’t mean shit to me if Negan isn’t okay. I could kill Richie a thousand times over and it would never balance out if anything serious or permanent happens to Negan. 

Another light rapping against the door to the room tears me from my bitter thoughts and I know it’s Tommy letting me know that it’s time for us to go. With one last glance at Negan, I heave an exhausted sigh and stand alongside the bed. 

“Please be okay,” I beg with an anguished whisper. I feel like I’ve repeated that phrase a million times over the last few days, both out loud to no one in particular and in my head; chanting it so frequently it has turned into a constant, desperate mantra. Turning away from Negan, I sluggishly walk to the door before throwing a final glance over my shoulder. All I can do is cling to my tiny ember of hope and belief that Negan is going to pull through this in one piece.


	47. The Sound Of Silence

With the set of keys jingling quietly as I shift them around in my palm, I stand in the garage and contemplate the possible stupidity of what I’m about to do. My arms are crossed over my chest and my foot taps restlessly as I war with my mind, trying to make a decision. I take several short steps and bring myself closer to the sleek Harley Davidson propped near the wall across from me. The beautiful bike is in pristine condition and I wonder whether it’s new and unused or just very well taken care of. I’d never seen a motorcycle back at Negan’s house in New York so I’m not sure if this one belongs to him.

I circle the bike, running my fingers lightly over the silver handlebars and along the blacked out chrome. Clearly the owner had invested a lot of time and money as I can tell most of the details and inner workings have been tweaked and customized. I take a moment to admire the tremendous, dark beast before I swing my leg up and over the bike and settle onto the plush seat. My legs drape over either side and I have to stretch a bit to touch my toes firmly to the ground. _You’d have to be a damn giraffe to ride this thing comfortably_. 

Twisting my torso, I reach around to open the snaps on the leather saddlebag, curious to see what’s in there. Inside I find a large bundle of black and white leather material and I struggle a little to yank it from the compartment. When I free the material, it lands in my lap and I realize it’s a leather motorcycle jacket. The familiar scent that invades my nostrils immediately lets me know who the bike belongs to. I clench my fists tightly into the supple material before I bring it toward my face and inhale the spicy and masculine fragrance of Negan I’ve become well acquainted with. The aroma serves as a cruel reminder of how alone I am and where Negan is, so far away from me. 

Not wanting to dwell on the situation or lose what little hope remains in my heart, I finally make my decision as I am in dire need of a distraction. I jump from the bike and make my way over to the overhead garage door, fighting to heave the bulky door hard enough to slide it up the tracks. The fresh, light smell of rain permeates the pitch black night air once I have the door open. Breathing deeply, I give one last thought to what I’m doing. I have enough experience with motorcycles – thanks to a much older, much wilder ex-boyfriend I’d had as a teen – so I know it isn’t my ability to drive one that has me worried. It’s the late hour and the slick roads from the on-and-off pouring rain as well as the exhaustion weighing on my body that makes this venture a risky one. With Negan practically dead to the world and Tommy gone home to his family for the night, there’s no one here to tell me what I’m doing is ridiculous. _What they don’t know can’t hurt ‘em_. Mentally shrugging, I decide I will be fine as long as I am careful. I stride back to the bike and quickly scramble to climb back on. 

Slinging the heavy, over-sized motorcycle jacket onto my shoulders, I let Negan’s warm scent blanket me as I reach back for the full-face helmet perched on the tiny passenger seat behind me. I drop the substantial fiberglass helmet over my head and in the claustrophobic space, the scent of sweat and Negan is even more potent. The helmet is too big for my own head, but somehow I figure that’s better than riding around with no protection whatsoever. I slide the key into the ignition and turn it while digging deep into the recesses of my mind to remind myself how to use all the buttons and dials on the dash. Depressing the clutch with my left hand, I reach out to flip the start button and the Harley roars to life beneath me. A rush of adrenaline washes over me at the feeling of the powerful machine rumbling between my thighs. With one hand pressing the brake and the other wrapped around the throttle, I snap my heel against the kickstand and twist my wrist causing the engine to unleash a thunderous growl. Grinning to myself, I let up on the brake and tear out of the garage with the tires squealing loudly against the concrete beneath me. 

I drive recklessly over the speed limit, but with no other drivers around and the need for a little rush, I have no intention of slowing down. The wind sweeping over me and whipping the sides of my unzipped jacket is thrilling and invigorating. The engine beneath me snarls aggressively as I push it well past cruising speeds, utilizing every ounce of horsepower within. 

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I pretend I’m leaving all my problems behind in a cloud of dust and I’m tempted to urge the careening bike to it’s full potential. However, I know no matter what lightning speeds I reach, I cannot get away. The very thought causes anxiety to crawl its way up my spine; it’s never far from me these days anyway. No matter how I try to distract myself, my marathon sprinting mind always manages to catch up in no time at all. With the yellow and white lines darting past me in a swift blur, Dr. Campbell’s previous words begin to rattle around my head. “ _If he wakes up…neurological damage…expect the worst…be prepared._ ” Every word seems like it’s being screamed at me from within the tight and enclosing space of the weighty helmet on my head. I feel suffocated and I want to rip the offending object from my face. Each memory of the doctor’s warnings causes me to inch the throttle, forcing the bike to move microscopically faster with each passing second. 

Directing the motorcycle onto a curving and windy back road, I decide to really push my luck. I turn my hand slowly but persistently, easing the speedometer far beyond a safe or reasonable number. The strong vibrations traveling up the handlebars and through my arms shake my entire body. Both my heart and the bike are racing as I smoothly navigate along the unlit road. Reaching up, I flip the tinted visor to see better in the blinding darkness and tiny droplets of rain pelt my exposed skin. Trees line the pavement in close proximity and with limited visibility in the small headlamp, the challenge of turning in time to pull through the sharp curves is an exhilarating and dangerous game. 

I know I’m taking my life into my own hands by messing around like this, but I find that I don’t care. So what if I crash? So what if I die? I don’t have much to lose at this point anyway. Without Negan, I have nothing. An inkling of anger courses through me at how pathetic and disgusting I feel to depend so heavily on Negan. Never in my life have I had to rely on another person; I’ve always done absolutely fine on my own and I’m more than happy to do so. Since losing my mother, I haven’t loved another person. I’d been hurt too deeply to let myself be vulnerable to that kind of emotional pain ever again. I was so afraid of being hurt that I’d deprived myself of close relationships, emotional connections, and love. That is until I met Negan. Something about him made me want to let my walls down and let him in. He’d consumed my whole life like a raging wildfire and I’d fallen ass over tits for him. It warmed my heart to feel cared about and have someone make the effort to chip away at me rather than walk away from my icy disposition. He is the first person I’ve let myself love in nearly a decade and just as I feared, the risk of losing him and being torn apart is a very real possibility. 

Among all of my bitterness and anger directed at the universe, I realize regardless of the amount of pain I have gone through and might still have to go through, it is worth loving Negan; meeting him has immensely changed my life in so many ways. I recall Tommy’s words when he’d confided in me that Negan – much like myself – hadn’t let many people close to him and I wonder if maybe I’d chipped away at his walls, too. Something akin to an epiphany hits me then, and I immediately release the pressure my hand is exerting on the throttle. _He needs me just as much as I need him_. 

Even with my hand off the throttle, the momentum of the bike’s elevated speed continues to propel me rapidly along the road. Taking a turn much quicker than I’m prepared for, I barely manage to ease the bike through the curve while keeping myself upright. Around the bend, the clustering trees give way to a large field illuminated by the moonlight. Allowing my eyes to adjust, I realize the opening is a cemetery as I spot the army of stones erected throughout the grass. The road curls slightly around the large fenced graveyard and I find myself taking my gaze off the road for an extended moment to look upon the various headstones as I race by. 

Distracted by both my thoughts and the sight of the graves, I don’t see the angular change in the road until it’s too late. With a panicked gasp, I try to yank the handlebars to the right to keep the bike on the road. I manage to do so, however with the speed of the bike and the abrupt movement, my tires slide on the wet road and lose all traction. My weight is still pitched to one side from my attempt to take the curve at the last second and it causes the skidding bike to tip over. I come down hard on the rough pavement and the bike scrapes loudly along the road, taking my body with it. Like a ragdoll, I’m dragged several yards until the huge bike finally comes to a stop. 

Breathing laboriously, I reach up to wrench the hefty helmet up off my head. I drop it clumsily to the ground and let it roll several feet away from me. I lean my body at an awkward angle to kill the engine and let the air around me fall silent. For a moment, I lay on the ground not moving. My impact with the road has jostled my already battered body and my sprained wrist screams in protest. I twist myself into a seated position, massaging my bandaged wrist and letting out a pained growl at the throbbing in my elbow, hip, and leg where I’d made contact with the hard ground. 

Using all my strength, I manage to get sufficient leverage to lift the bike off my leg just enough to pull my trapped limb out. I slowly get to my feet and give myself a mental once-over. No obvious or serious injuries jump out at me except for the various places I know I’m going to have huge bruises by tomorrow morning. 

Suddenly, an irrational wave of rage comes over me at the sight of the downed motorcycle. More than anything, it’s anger blossoming from fear paired with the rest of my high-running emotions. Releasing a grunt of anger, I swing my foot out and kick the heap of metal in front of me. The pain that shoots through my booted foot only serves to multiply my unfounded anger and – like a child – it causes me to lash out. 

“Fuck you!” I scream angrily toward the sky to no one in particular. I’m yelling at no one and everyone. I repeat the curse over and over like a compulsive mantra, smashing my foot against the bike each time I utter the phrase. _Fuck Negan and fuck his stupid fucking bike, fuck Richie, fuck Sy, fuck Vito, fuck Derek, fuck Desi, fuck every person who’d put me through Hell_. When I’ve finally exhausted myself and almost certainly bruised the ever-loving shit out of my foot, I pull myself together, panting and out of breath as I struggle mightily to hoist the bike back into an upright position. I cringe and groan when I see the damage I’ve done – the handlebar is skewed, one of the mirrors is smashed, and the gas tank and exposed exhaust pipes are thoroughly scraped. On top of that, my abrasive crash has scoured both the helmet and jacket I’ve borrowed. All in all though, I’ve made it through relatively unscathed and I’m just glad to have escaped without a painful road rash. 

With the burdensome mass of the motorcycle off the ground, I push against it with all my weight and start to roll it along the road. About 100 feet away, I spot an open gate along the length of the surrounding fence and I make my way slowly to the entrance of the graveyard. The only sound in the night is the clomping of my heavy boots and the crunching and sucking of the bike’s tires rolling over the wet pavement beside me. 

I reach the rocky gravel pathway leading into the cemetery and I roll the massive bike as far as I can before my weak legs need a break. Kicking my foot out, I ease the kickstand out with a small squeak and leave the bike propped along the path. Stepping away from the bike, I pace slowly along the path before veering into the grass. I weave my way in and out of the granite headstones, reading the names, dates, and epitaphs as I move unhurriedly through the barren necropolis. Almost none of the graves appear to have seen any visitors in recent memory as all the flowers placed among the burial grounds are decayed and rotted. 

Reaching the resting place of someone else’s “beloved father”, I stop my gradual steps and take a moment to remember my own. Back home in New York, he’s decomposing in the dirt somewhere in a graveyard I’d never bothered to visit. It had been a begrudging compromise for me to even come home for his funeral, so I hadn’t gone through the trouble of being there when his casket was lowered into the ground. In all honesty, I’m not even sure where exactly he’s buried. _Some daughter I am_. 

There’s so many things I wish I could say to my father, if only I had the chance. So many things I resented and hated him for that I now have a better grasp and understanding of. It’s much too late to do anything about it now, but I still wish I could talk to him at least, maybe even apologize. Dropping to my knees in the damp grass, I run my hand over the cool marble headstone of the stranger buried in the dirt beneath me. Out here by myself, somehow I don’t feel alone. I take comfort in the eerie feeling and find myself wishing the gravestone I sit in front of is my father’s so at least I can pretend he is hearing the words I’m about to speak. A soft but steady warm rain begins to fall as I settle onto the grass and cross my legs before orating my heartfelt words out into the void and hoping in some way they will reach my father.


	48. Learning How To Fly With A Broken Wing

“I’m so sorry, Dad.”

My adamant apology is the first thing to slip past my trembling lips. Above all else, I want nothing more than to apologize to my father. I know I’ll never have the chance to do so, but for now, this will have to do. 

“I’m sorry for everything,” I whisper. “God, I would give _anything_ for a second chance. For the opportunity to do things differently, you know?” 

Shuffling across the damp ground, I press my back against the firm headstone with my hands lying limply in my lap and settle in for a long, one-sided conversation. 

“Everything is so different now. It’s like I have this whole new perspective. It was so easy to hate you for what you did when I was removed from it all. Now that I’ve gotten a look at the inside of this lifestyle, I get it. I really do,” I continue. 

Reaching down, I begin to grab handfuls of grass, removing clumps of it from the ground absently. The brown, decaying lawn is moist from the ongoing rain and the dirt attached to the roots as I yank it out covers my fingers in squishy mud. I drag my filthy fingers across the surface of my boots, covering the leather in earthen slime as I trace random patterns with the sludge. 

“I wish I understood things sooner,” I lament. “I wish there was something that opened my eyes earlier so things didn’t have to end the way they did with us. That shit is gonna haunt me for the rest of my days.” I sigh to myself, knowing that while talking to my dead father is probably insane, it’s the only way to lessen my personal burden enough that I can move past my own blatant neglect of our fractured relationship. 

I lean my head back against the slippery, wet stone behind me and tilt my gaze upward. The night sky is faintly illuminated by the nearly full moon, the clouds reflecting the shimmering orb and hiding away the stars I know are twinkling far in the distance. I start to think back on the initial downfall of the relationship between myself and my father; the tragedy that tore our family apart still poignant enough to sting. 

“I was really too young to grasp it at the time, so I blamed you when we lost Mom,” I blurt out, midway through my thoughts. “I always knew it wasn’t directly your fault, but that didn’t stop me from hating you for what happened to her. All I could remember was her fear and how desperately she wanted to get you away from the mafia, so naturally I assumed it was your association that killed her. I mean, in a way I guess I was right, but I know it was her actions that got her killed. There are rules for a reason in this life, and breaking them comes with dire consequences.” 

I realize that while both my parents played a part in my mother’s death, neither one of them should hold the blame for what happened. While my father’s questionable job and involvements had always shrouded us in some level of danger, it wasn’t his fault that my mother was murdered. She let her fears push her to drastic measures that risked the secrecy and sanctity of my father’s part in the mob and it’s ultimately what precipitated the brutal attack that took her life. Of course, I didn’t necessarily blame my mother. I understood her paranoia and her desire to do _anything_ to pull my father away from such risky business. As someone who bore witness to some small part of the criminal world, I knew my mother’s fears were warranted and had I been in her shoes, I probably would’ve done the same. Still, it didn’t make her fate any less painful and as a teenager, I didn’t know any better than to resent my father for the shitty hand life had dealt us all. 

“I couldn’t stay. I knew every time I looked at you, I would think of her and what they did to her. I didn’t want to see you that way, I didn’t want to stick around and have to deal with that so I ran,” I explain. “I guess that part was inevitable, but I wish I had come back sooner. On my own, it was easier to just forget what I left behind. I never had to face the trauma that rocked our family and the distance made my choice to cut you off all the more easy.” 

As I continue my soliloquy, the hovering night sky releases a heavier downpour of cool precipitation. The drops land upon me, drenching my hair and rolling quickly down the smooth leather of the jacket blanketing my shoulders. Moisture soaks into my jeans both from the falling rain and from the damp ground I’m sitting on. In the distance, the sound of rolling thunder rumbles faintly as a looming thunderstorm creeps closer. With the angry storm encroaching and threatening to overcome me, I know my time is running short; I shouldn’t stay out here with such inclement weather closing in. 

Inhaling a deep breath, I turn my focus back to my heartfelt revelation. “Things could’ve been so different if I’d taken the time to get my mind together and work through what happened and just talked to you and tried to understand. You tried so many times to talk to me, you never gave up. I just ignored you because I was too afraid to face reality. I was so scared,” I confess with a shaky mumble. “Maybe if I just answered your letters or accepted your calls we could’ve cleared everything up and I could’ve come home. I know you wanted to mend things between us and I should’ve let you. I should’ve let you help me, but I couldn’t. I _should’ve_ , we could have been okay. I wish I could turn it all around and have just a little more time with you. It’s my own fault that I missed out on so much. I was too stubborn to let you back into my life. I got that from you, Dad,” I scoff with a humorless laugh. 

“I _hate_ that it took you dying to get me back home. It never should’ve come to that. Sometimes I wonder why I even bothered, yanno? What was the point of coming back if you were already gone? Why did I wait so long? If I was willing to come back for you then, why wasn’t I willing to come back when you were alive? Why was I so afraid to face you?” I question. “I guess I don’t really have an explanation other than that I’m selfish. I didn’t want that guilt weighing on me so…”. My voice trails off until it fades to nothing, the sound of the heavy rain surrounding me. 

“Apologizing is kind of a moot point now, but I know you’re listening. I know you’re here. I can feel you,” I announce, taking comfort in the presence I feel around me. Whether or not it’s real or just my imagination, who knows. “I don’t know if you can forgive me and I guess I’ll never really know for sure, but I’m truly sorry. Even if you don’t, at least I can forgive _myself_ with the knowledge that I’ve forgiven you and I understand everything more clearly now. You were doing what you had to. You always protected us and everything you did was _for_ us, so thank you for that. I’m so sorry I let us fall apart. I’m sorry I didn’t let you fix things when all you wanted was to have your family back, no matter how broken we were.” 

A formidable wave of relief washes over me at my utterance of forgiveness and acceptance. It’s a massive weight off my shoulders to acknowledge and admit the feelings that had come to light recently. After so many years of burying away the sorrow and misery my past upheavals had provoked, I finally feel like I can breathe. I feel like I can move on and live my life at last. Releasing a tearful laugh, I shift away from the headstone I’m propped against to flop backwards on the waterlogged grass. Tears of liberation stream down my face as the deluge of rain pours down on me, ironically symbolic following my cleansing words. Time blurs as I lay upon the ground, remaining in a peaceful trance for what could be hours. 

“I’m gonna be okay, Dad,” I declare with finality, the assurance is for both of our sake. “I’m not alone anymore, I have Negan. I think you’d like him,” I giggle, laughing after my words as I recall my father’s distaste for all the young prospects who’d come along trying to court me in my younger years. “I know you always hated the idea of me being with anyone from the life, especially a made man, but I think you’d like Negan. He takes good care of me and he loves me, I know that’s all you ever wanted for me.” Just then, the distant rumbling thunder suddenly becomes much less distant and the ground beneath me vibrates with the loud crash that erupts from overhead. Though it could just be a coincidence, I take the ferocious sound as a sign, from my father perhaps. 

“Hey, you and I both know it’s impossible to get out of this life, it was unavoidable that I would end up with someone from the mob,” I laugh. “At least I picked a good one; go big or go home, right?” My amusement fades slightly as I’m hit with the realization that my father will never know the man I love. “I wish you could’ve met him. He’s done so much for me and changed my life so much, I really want you to see how happy I am. He’s helped me so much with seeing what this life is really all about. There’s so much I didn’t understand until he showed me. He’s the reason I can forgive you now, and the reason I can forgive myself. Too little too late maybe, but better late than never. I can never take back what I did, but I can be at peace with it now.“ 

"This is who we are, who we’ve always been and who I am meant to be. I know that now. This is where I belong. I’m going to make you proud, Dad,” I promise. 

Accompanying my concluding words, a bolt of lightning flashes across the sky, promptly followed by another crash of thunder. _Another sign, maybe; it’s time to get out of here_. It’s then that I notice the rising sun peeking up over the horizon and I wonder how long I’ve been out here. Remembering that Tommy planned to pick me up early to take me back to the hospital, I dig into the inner pocket of the large jacket to fish out my phone. Pulling the miraculously dry device out, I illuminate the screen and see the clock reads 15 minutes to 7am. Not wanting Tommy to worry or ask questions about my whereabouts, I send him a short text letting him know that he shouldn’t pick me up and I’ll meet him at the hospital. 

The rain still pelts against me as I rise from the soggy ground and walk my dripping form over to where I’d left Negan’s roughed up motorcycle. Climbing atop the bike, I situate the helmet over my head once more and I cross my fingers and hope the rain hasn’t affected the operation of the machine at all as I twist the key in the ignition and start it up. Thankfully, the motor immediately purrs to life and I kick the stand as I rev the engine and ease out of the vacant cemetery. 

Driving marginally slower this time, I cruise along the road, carefully avoiding the flooded dips and potholes along the way. Somehow managing to find my way back to the main road, I turn and head in the direction of the hospital. Hopefully after today, Negan will be on his way to recovery and soon enough I’ll no longer have to make this dreaded trip. 

When I reach the mostly empty lot, I park as close to the front of the building as I can. Dragging the helmet off my head, I toss it gently to rest on the seat of the motorcycle. I don’t worry about someone stealing it, it’s ruined anyway. With long strides, I quickly make my way up the sidewalk and through the doors. I step foot into the hallway and remember that I’d spent the last few hours out in the rain and rolling around in the mud so I must look a fright as I dash through the front doors. Not sparing a look to any of the nurses or doctors wandering the halls, I make my way to the elevator and up to the floor of the hospital I’m becoming familiar with. With a renewed vigor and a heart full of alacrity, I practically skip to Negan’s room, ready to face this ordeal head-on and get my life back on track.


	49. Exist To Resist

Perched at Negan’s bedside, I wait impatiently for Tommy to show. Having already spoken to Dr. Campbell, everything is set to stop the meds being administered to Negan in order to ease him out of his induced coma. I bounce my legs, both out of anxiety and because I’m fucking freezing. With my still dripping clothes, the cool air of the hospital room is making me uncomfortably cold. Just as I begin to wonder what’s taking Tommy so long, his loud voice booms from over my shoulder.

“What the fuck happened to you, kid?” he questions upon seeing my haggard and soggy appearance. 

Turning toward him, I give him a weak smile. “Got caught in the rain,” I manage through my chattering teeth. I’d taken off the motorcycle jacket that had become saturated and heavy, so the air blowing across my bare arms heightens my chilly state. 

“Caught in it? Looks like ya damn near drowned in it,” he retorts. Stepping closer, he notices my shivering body. “Shit, lemme get you a blanket or something,” he offers as he twirls back around and paces quickly from the room. 

My skin is uncomfortably sticky from the rain and there’s still dirt caked under my fingernails, so I head to the bathroom to clean myself up a little. Flicking on the lights, I walk up to the sink and observe myself in the small mirror. The gash across my hairline is hardly noticeable now, though the same can’t be said for the puffy dark circles beneath my eyes. Looking away from my reflection, I turn the taps and let the water warm slightly before placing my hands under the flow. Scraping the dried mud from under my nails, I pump a palmful of soap into my hand and scrub the filthy skin vigorously. I rinse my hands and slick water up my arms to cleanse the residual stickiness from my skin. I suck in sharply, hissing as I rub my fingers over my badly bruised elbow. Grabbing a handful of paper towels from the dispenser on the wall, I dab them across my dripping hands and arms, drying off before heading back out to the room. 

“There you are,” Tommy states as he passes me the blanket held in his hands, Dr. Campbell stands at his side. 

A nurse works diligently alongside Negan’s bed, adjusting his IV’s and pressing various buttons on the surrounding machines and monitors. With the blanket wrapped tightly around my shoulders, I watch the nurse’s procedural movements with interest. 

“He should wake up within a few hours. Once he’s conscious, it will only be a short while before he gets his bearings and then we can determine his condition,” the doctor asserts. Turning to me he demands, “You should get out of those wet clothes. We don’t want you to catch a case of hypothermia and have to admit you, too.” With that, both Dr. Campbell and the nurse leave the room letting us know they’ll be back later to check on Negan. 

I return to the chair next to the bed and bring my knees up to my chest, curling into myself and trying to create some body heat. Tommy shuffles up next to me and places a comforting hand over my shoulder. 

“He’s gonna be okay, kid,” he offers. “Hey…at least if he wakes up as a different person, maybe he won’t be such an asshole anymore.“ 

A sudden laugh escapes me at Tommy’s unexpected comment. “I hope he can hear you right now just so he can kick your ass when he’s back on his feet,” I joke with a chuckle. “Eh, I can take him, don’t worry. Listen, I gotta take care of something, but I’ll be back in a little while. You want me to grab you some dry clothes before I come back?” he implores. 

“Yeah, sure, thanks,” I accept, curious as to what is so important that Tommy is willing to leave his cousin at such a time. 

Now on my own, I scoot my chair closer to Negan and rest my elbows on the edge of the thin mattress of the hospital bed with my chin propped in my hand. For a long while, I observe Negan’s face attentively, staring with rapt attention and looking for even the most minuscule movement or change in his features. Eventually, I resign myself to a lengthy wait and direct my gaze to the stark white, clinical walls surrounding me. On occasion, the pattern of beeps emitting from the machine monitoring Negan’s heart rate changes in speed or frequency and prompts me to glance back in his direction. No matter how many times I divert my eyes to him, I still see no change. 

When I start to hallucinate sounds and shadowy movements within the small room, I discern how delirious I am from my complete lack of sleep the previous night. My tired eyes cross repeatedly, doing their best to force themselves shut. I feel like I’m going crazy, my mind half-cocked and burnt out from sheer exhaustion. Leaning further forward, I brush my frizzy, drying hair out of my face and lay my head down on my folded arms atop the bed. Still shivering, it takes my body a long time to warm up enough for me to relax. 

Just as I am about to doze off, I’m positive I am losing my mind when I’m sure I hear Negan speak to me. Ignoring the sound, I drag a cold hand down my weary face and burrow my head deeper into my arms. About 20 minutes later, I hear another roughly grumbled sound from beside me and decide to check for myself that I’m not hearing what I think I’m hearing. As soon as I lift my bleary eyes to Negan’s visage, I’m momentarily stunned by the sight of his golden gaze staring back at me. His eyes are glassy and clouded over, I’m not sure he’s cognizant enough to actually recognize me. Before I can open my mouth, he speaks again and I realize I had in fact heard his voice earlier. 

“You look like shit,” he croaks, his voice thick and gravelly. 

It takes me a second to register his words and when I do, a small laugh escapes me. _Of course the first thing out of his mouth is something rude and ridiculous_. Taking his larger hand in my own, I move closer to talk to him. “Do you know where you are?” I urge. The only response I receive is his deeply furrowed brow. “Negan?” 

“Who are you?” he questions. My shoulders slump and my mouth pops open at his words. _He doesn’t remember who I am_. I shift restlessly in my seat, trying to comprehend that fact when Negan’s scratchy voice reaches my ears again. “I’m just fuckin’ with you,” he mumbles. 

As much as I want to be angry, my sense of relief overpowers that desire. Negan is awake and somehow able to already act like a little shit. I shut my eyes and release a huge sigh of alleviation. When I open my eyes again, Negan’s face is contorted in an expression of discomfort. “What is it? What’s wrong?” I ask, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. 

“Fuckin’ mouth is drier than a nun’s vagina,” he groans. 

With a hearty laugh, I release Negan’s hand and trot off to the bathroom. Grabbing the tan plastic cup off the counter, I fill it with a meager amount of water. I’m not sure whether Negan should be eating or drinking at all, so I don’t want to risk letting him drink too much. At the last second, I reach out and snatch the small bottle of mouthwash the hospital has provided. I can’t imagine anyone would have a pleasant taste in their mouth after being in a coma for so many days. 

Making my way back to Negan, I see his eyes are closed again. Gently rubbing his shoulder to get his attention, I settle down next to his hip and hand him the water. When he lifts his hand and immediately drops it limply back to his side, I realize he’s so weak he can barely function. Lifting the cup for him, I place it to his lips and tilt it slowly, doing my best not to drown him. Unscrewing the cap of the mouthwash, I see Negan’s chapped lips quirk into the ghost of a smile. 

“Mmm, could kill a damn elephant with my breath,” he rasps quietly. His voice is still grating and raw as a result of having a tube shoved down his throat as well as from days of disuse. When I reach out with the small bottle, he lifts his hand again to grab it from me. His clumsily grasping hand completely misses the bottle my fingers are wrapped around at first and I realize his depth perception is totally off, likely a consequence of the drugs that still haven’t worn off. Swigging a healthy gulp of the minty, green fluid once he gets a hold of it, he swishes it around his mouth for a few seconds before taking the cup back from my hand and spitting the foamy liquid out. Placing the cup and bottle both on the table next to his bed, I sit back in the uncomfortable chair at Negan’s side. 

“Either I tangoed with a Mack truck or you finally got sick of me and decided to kick the shit outta me,” he laments, speaking in a slow and strained voice. “My ass is fuckin’ _hurtin’_.” 

“You don’t remember what happened?” I ponder. He shakes his head in denial and I fill him in. “You crashed the Impala. We rolled down an embankment. I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt and I went through the windshield, but somehow I managed to walk away with just some bad scrapes and bruises.“ 

Negan’s face is tense and concerned as I tell him about what happened, though I know if any of my injuries were readily visible, he’d be beating himself up even more over what I’m telling him. I make sure to leave out the part about what caused our accident. If he doesn’t remember someone coming after us, I’m sure as hell not going to remind him. All that will do is fuel his desire to kill whoever tried to hurt us; seeing as I’ve already done that and I’m not ready to confess to it, I’m keeping my mouth shut. 

“You were trapped in the car and I dragged you out. There was…so much blood,” I force out, hesitating slightly as I recall that horrible night. “I guess…I guess you had a lot of internal bleeding from the crash because you…you died.” My voice cracks and I choke on my last words as a sob threatens to claw it’s way up my throat. 

Negan immediately releases a harsh breath upon hearing what had happened to him. He lifts his uninjured arm to drag a hand down his face in an act of distress. I watch his reaction carefully, sniffling quietly as he processes the information. Turning back to me, I can see his worried look as his eyes well up slightly. 

Negan’s features are twisted in a pained expression as he regards me. “C'mere,” he pleads in a broken voice. He reaches a hand feebly in my direction, prompting me to move from my seat to sit beside him on the bed again. When he tugs gently against my arm to pull me against him, I attempt to stop him. 

“Negan,” I warn, not wanting to hurt him. “I shouldn’t – ”. 

“Just let me hold you,” he interrupts. Relenting, I pull myself more fully onto the bed and slide as gently as possible next to his bandaged body. With a small grunt of agony, he wraps an arm across my shoulders and drags me softly against his chest. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispers against the top of my head. 

“It’s not your fault,” I counter quietly. 

Negan doesn’t bother responding beyond a shaky laugh and the promise that I can’t get rid of him that easily. We remain wrapped around one another for a long moment and I soak in every second of it. I can’t describe the way it feels to finally be back in Negan’s arms and to know he’s alive and mostly okay. 

“Izzie?” he murmurs faintly, provoking a soft hum of response from me. “You’re all wet, but not in the good way.” 

Hearing his words, I remember my sodden attire still draped over my body. Tommy hasn’t returned with clean clothes for me yet and clearly I haven’t dried off enough for Negan not to notice. Not wanting to explain my late night venture or my proceeding crash and emotional manifestation, I merely dismiss his conjecture with the vaguest of explanations. 

Just then, Dr. Campbell enters the room, scrutinizing us with a curious look. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Giovanzo,” he declares. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

Returning from the cafeteria – freshly dressed and fully nourished – I pass a young, blonde nurse coming out of Negan’s room. She’s nearly skipping through the doorway, her gait causing her overly pushed-up boobs to practically tumble out of her several-sizes-too-small scrubs. In her arms, she’s carrying a plastic basin full of soapy water with a yellow sponge floating around. I glance coldly in her direction, not sure how I feel about her having her eyes _or_ her hands on Negan. When I spot the dreamy look and giddy smile gracing her disturbingly cherubic features, I consider popping my foot out in the path of her hideous white sneakers and “accidentally” making her land face-first in her stupid sloshing bucket of water. The sound of her soft humming as we pass by one another makes my skin crawl in annoyance. 

When I enter the room, Negan is bundled in fresh bandages, a clean hospital gown, and I can see the tips of his dark hair are slightly damp. I can’t help the ridiculous pang of jealousy that sparks within me. _Couldn’t they find_ anyone _else to bathe my crippled man?_

“Well, you’re looking nice and clean,” I observe pointedly. 

I see Negan squint his eyes suspiciously at my tone of voice, studying my face carefully before he responds. “Mmhm,” he answers shortly, still watching me closely. 

“Bet that feels good,” I continue. I know my insinuating tone is borderline immature, but I want Negan to know I’m not okay with another woman touching him; I don’t care if she’s a nurse and it’s her job, not when she comes waltzing out of his room like a love-struck teenager after seeing him naked. 

“What’s wrong, Izzie?” he quizzes, immediately catching on to my unhappiness. 

“Other than Tits McGee pawing all over you and then walking out of here like a giggling bimbo?” I offer. 

Negan rolls his eyes dramatically at my admittance, though I can see him fighting back an amused smirk. “You’re kiddin’ me, right? You think I even gave that ditzy little thing a second thought? Shit, the chick’s got more hands than an octopus. I’d rather stew in my own juices than let her gropey, soapy little hands anywhere near me ever again.” 

I find myself giggling at Negan’s put-upon tone of fear and realize I’m just being ridiculous getting jealous over something so stupid. Returning to my place at Negan’s side, I haul myself up onto the bed and sit cross-legged next to his legs. 

“Besides, your hands are the only ones I’m interested in having all over my fine ass body,” he jokes with a wink as he reaches out for my left hand. 

When he wraps his fingers around mine, I can tell the exact moment he feels the piece of jewelry threaded around my thin finger. We lock eyes for a second before he brings my hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss against my knuckles. 

“You know this means you’re the only woman in the world who matters to me, right?” he urges. I nod my head in silent acknowledgement, knowing that his declaration is sincere. “Shit,” he laughs running a hand down his face. “We aren’t even married yet and you’re already givin’ me so much shit.” 

“Um, you proposed to me in a shitty motel while we were on the run after killing several people,” I defend. “If you seriously didn’t know going into this that it was gonna be a rocky marriage, that ain’t my problem.” My laughing tone makes it clear that I’m kidding, though Negan plays along with my sarcastic banter. 

“Oh, well excuse the _shit_ outta me, Ye of Cold Hardheartedness,” he yells humorously. “I didn’t exactly think you were the type of girl who wanted all that romance and wooing. You got a proposal and some good dick, don’t tell me that wasn’t enough for you.” 

“Wow, poetic Negan, really,” I whisper, clutching my hand over my heart. “How did I ever get so lucky?” 

“Hey, if ya want flowers and chocolates and sunshine shootin’ outta my ass, you just say the word darlin’. I’ll make that happen for you,” he offers. Though his voice is full of laughter I know just how serious he is. Negan would absolutely give me the world if I asked him to. 

Leaning forward to land a quick kiss on Negan’s lips, all humor vanishes from my words. “I just want you,” I state sincerely. 

“You got me, sweetheart,” he assures, clutching a hand to his injured ribs as he pulls me close to press our foreheads together. “You got all of me.”


	50. Shelter Me

The past week has been Hell for both me and Negan. Since coming home, I’ve been at his side, taking care of him as best I can. Of course, being the stubborn and difficult man he is, he insists on doing everything on his own and making it near impossible for me to lend a hand. However, his obstinance had bitten him in the ass within the first two days of being released from the hospital. Given his instability from all the pain medications he’s on, when he’d taken it upon himself one morning to try to get up and walk on his own, he had taken a spill coming down the stairs and gotten hurt. When he fell, he tried to catch himself with his injured arm, thus jostling the newly set bone which resulted in me having to drag his ass to the emergency room. With a quick X-ray, it had been determined that he’d reseparated the break in his arm and would need to have surgery to reset the bone with titanium pins.

After hours of waiting anxiously in the hospital for Negan to get out of surgery followed by spending another hour awaiting the doctor’s approval for him to leave, we’re finally on our way home. I could sense the doctor’s hesitation to release Negan, but the man seemed more worried about disobeying Negan’s adamant and intimidating assertion that he was fine and wanted to go home, so here we are. During the entire journey, neither of us speaks to the other. I’m angry at Negan for refusing my help and hurting himself and I know he’s pissed at having to begrudgingly admit that he needs my assistance. 

When I pull the car Tommy has lent me in front of the house, I swiftly shut the engine and skirt the fender to make my way to Negan’s door before he can try to stand on his own. Between the residual medication from his surgery and the high dosage of Vicodin the doctor had administered, Negan sways slightly on his feet. With his arm draped across my shoulders, I encircle his waist to support him as we make our way inside. Even in his woozy state, I can feel Negan fighting against me and trying not to lean any of his weight on me. 

With only a small struggle, I manage to drag Negan up the stairs and into his bedroom. When we reach the bed, he flops onto his back harshly with a rough grunt of discomfort. I try to ask him if he needs anything, but he refuses to meet my eyes, opting instead to respond with a noncommittal grunt. I give him the benefit of the doubt due to his condition and frustration and try not to let his pissy mood bother me. Making my way to the other side of the bed, I strip down and join Negan, though he continues to ignore my presence. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

The next morning, I’m stirred awake by the loud, pained groans from beside me and the shifting of the mattress beneath me. Rolling over, my eyes fall on Negan’s form as he sits up slowly in bed. Dressed only in a pair of boxers, I realize at some point in the night, he’d removed his clothes even with only one capable hand. I immediately notice a deeply colored purple bruise along his ribcage and wonder how he’s managing to do any amount of moving with broken ribs. Scanning over his tanned skin, I see an equally dark bruise marring his hip, peeking out over the waistband of his underwear. 

“You okay?” I prompt groggily, my voice still rough from sleep. 

“Yeah, musta fucked my back up,” he admits with a sigh as he reaches his right hand around to press against his lower back. I wonder if his pain is from the crash or when he’d fallen, perhaps a combination of the two. I know for a fact the bruise along his hip is from his fall and I can only imagine how much it’s going to hurt when he tries to walk. 

Negan reaches out for the yellow bottle of prescribed pain pills on the bedside table, shaking several out into his hand and dry swallowing the capsules. Knowing how strong the pills are, I’m tempted to comment on the fact that he’s taking so many. It’s then that I realize just how many bottles are perched on the surface next to the bed. _Where the fuck did he get so many pills?_ I already know the answer to my question before I have any time to ponder it. Of course Negan has access to almost anything he could possibly want or need. 

“Gotta fuckin’ piss,” Negan grumbles to himself, his low voice drawing me from my thoughts. 

When he tries unsuccessfully to rise from the bed and only manages to stumble and bounce back onto the mattress, I throw the sheets from my body and climb off the bed to help him. Taking a hold of his uninjured forearm in both my hands, I pull him up as he tries a second time to stand. Just like last night, he still won’t even look at me and I find myself feeling sympathetic towards his aggravation and attempts to shut me out. I’ll give him his time to lament and wallow, I know he’ll come around eventually. 

Walking by his side with a steadying grip on his elbow as he limps heavily, Negan’s chilled voice washes over me. “You gonna fuckin’ watch?” he snarls. I ignore his cold jab with a roll of my eyes and continue helping him toward the bathroom. When we reach the cool tile floor, he opens his big mouth again. “Maybe you can hold my dick for me while I piss, too.” 

Before I have a chance to respond to his snarky comments, the sound of the doorbell chimes from downstairs. Giving him a sharp glare, I stride back to the bedroom to throw one of Negan’s large white t-shirts over my underwear and trot down the stairs to answer the door. Swinging the heavy oak door open, I find Tommy standing upon the porch and promptly invite him inside. 

“How’s he doin’?” Tommy asks. I can tell from his tone that he already has a pretty good idea about how I’m fairing with the situation. 

“He’s being a pain in my ass and acting like a giant baby, but otherwise okay,” I sneer with a sardonic smile. “Gotta feed my man-child, so I’ll meet ya back down here in a second,” I toss over my shoulder as I traipse back up the stairs. 

I find Negan perched back on the side of the bed, staring absently at the wall. Grabbing a t-shirt and some black sweatpants from a drawer, I hand them to Negan. Knowing that he’d never actually allow me to help dress him, no matter his level of indisposal, I walk to the closet to grab a more appropriate outfit for myself while he gets dressed. Returning to the room dressed in dark jeans and a comfortable shirt, I step from the walk-in closet just as Negan pulls his t-shirt over his torso, careful to ease it over the hard plaster of the cast wrapped around his arm. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I prod when I see the pained expression twisting his features. 

“I’m fine,” he retorts tersely. Finally letting his eyes fall upon me, he sees the displeased look on my face before his icy mood thaws just a bit. “You don’t realize how fucked up you are until they take you off that morphine and you feel like you got run over by a train. But I’ll live,” he assures me with a smirk as he limps his way over to the door I’m standing beside. 

“C'mon, big guy,” I offer as I squeeze myself just below his armpit and help him make his way down the stairs and into the living room where Tommy is waiting. Leaving Negan on the couch with a whiny complaint, I head to the kitchen to grab him something to eat. I return to the room with a plate of food just as Tommy addresses Negan. 

“Guess she’s taking pretty good care of you, huh?” he implores with an undertone that makes his intended taunt much more blatant. 

“No matter how many times I try to tell her, she won’t crawl down outta my ass,” Negan complains. Unsure whether or not he’s joking, I decide to ignore his comment and make my way to where he’s sprawled across the piece of furniture in the center of the room. 

“Shut up and eat, Princess,” I quip sassily as I take a seat on the coffee table in front of Negan and hand him the plate I’m holding. 

The three of us share in comfortable conversation before I realize the pills Negan had taken earlier are really starting to take effect. Between his injected comments, I can see his eyes drifting shut as he struggles to stay awake. Before long, his eyes shut completely and don’t open again and I determine he is out cold. 

“Thank you, Izzie,” Tommy offers softly, “for being here and taking care of him. He might act like a hard ass, but he appreciates it. And so do I.” 

I give him a small smile at his generous comment. “Of course. I would do anything for him,” I admit honestly. I reach out to brush my fingers tenderly across Negan’s forehead, sweeping the stray hairs back into their proper place. Without any product in his normally slicked back hair, Negan’s locks have been velvety, unruly, and mussed up recently; a look that softens his intimidating appearance and one that I’m growing fond of. 

Tommy and I revel in lighthearted talk for nearly 3 hours; I’ve shared stories of my previous experiences with the mafia and Tommy has told me all about his family. I try my best to urge him to tell me some stories about Negan – preferably something embarrassing – but he is unrelenting and gives almost nothing away. Among a litany of laughter as I tell Tommy of my reckless teenaged years and my long running devil-may-care attitude that had gotten me in trouble often, Negan begins to stir from his drug-induced slumber. 

Tossing an annoyed glance at both Tommy and I, Negan moves assiduously to prop himself in a seated position on the couch. After several pained groans and with a hand braced on his throbbing ribs, he speaks in a disgruntled almost angry tone. 

“Can’t a man get some fuckin’ sleep in his own fuckin’ house?” he snivels. 

He likely isn’t even aware of how churlish and immature he’s being, though I know he is only being fussy because he’s in pain again. It’s already been a few hours since his last dosage so I stand to head upstairs and grab some of the pills from the bedroom and bring them down to him; it’s better for all of us to keep him on an even keel and doped up as much as possible while he heals. 

Thrusting the small pharmaceutical bottle in Negan’s direction, he snatches it from my hand. “Could’ve gotten it my fuckin’ self,” he grouses as he pops another handful of pills. Somehow I manage to bite my tongue and refrain from reminding him just how well things had gone the last time he tried to function on his own. In typical fragile masculine fashion, he’s acting like his pain and suffering is the end of the world while at the same time feeling as though his manhood is in jeopardy because of my assistance. 

Knowing the meds are going to knock Negan on his ass, Tommy decides it’s time for him to leave. He offers to help Negan back to bed, but of course, he steadfastly refuses. Tommy and I share a look of amusement and derision at Negan insistently letting his pride get in the way of the help he so clearly needs. Shrugging my shoulder back under Negan’s arm, he resentfully allows me to help him to the stairs. Before climbing the steps, I hear Tommy speak as he passes by on his way to the front door. 

“You think this is bad, wait ‘til you find out what else she did while you were in the hospital, Cuz,” he announces passively. 

I quickly whip my head around to regard Tommy at the door. The smile drops from his face the instant he sees the absolutely scathing look I’m directing his way. If looks could kill, he would be jumping into his grave with both feet right now. _I can’t believe he opened his fucking mouth_. I desperately hope that Negan hadn’t heard or at least couldn’t comprehend Tommy’s words with his foggy brain, but when I feel him tense in my grasp, I know I’m in trouble. With one last fiery stare at Tommy, I resume my task of dragging Negan back to the bedroom. 

When he lowers his ailing body onto the silken sheets of his bed, I cautiously glance down at him. Even with his hazy eyes, I read his expression loud and clear. Without question, he had heard Tommy’s statement and we’re going to be discussing it. Maybe not right now, but definitely _soon_. He knows something is up and evidently wants an explanation. I gulp loudly past the tightness in my throat, aware that the decidedly guilty look manifesting on my face is only confirming Negan’s suspicions that I’ve done something he isn’t going to be very happy about. He stares unflinchingly into my eyes for an uncomfortable amount of time; the unspoken matter we’re both silently acknowledging creating a heavy tension between us before Negan begins to fade and his fluttering eyelids slip shut and cover his burning, golden gaze.


	51. Can't Get It Out Of My Head

With Negan still too incapacitated to do much of anything, I spend most of my days cooking, cleaning, or otherwise occupying my time with a variety of menial tasks. He is recovering surprisingly well, although the doctor has instructed him to really take it easy given his brain injury as well as the accident he’d had upon coming home. I know he’s mended enough that he doesn’t need to be taking as many pain medications as he is, but I have a feeling he’s only doing so to numb the excruciating pain of boredom he’s suffering from being stuck in bed most days.

Much to his relief – and mine, if I’m being totally honest, I trust him enough to take care of himself now, so I’ve left him alone more frequently. For the most part, Negan is fairing well on his own, only needing my help occasionally with certain things. Thanks to his condition, I’ve managed to evade him and avoid any length of conversation beyond a few traded sentences. After Tommy throwing me under the bus about the things I’d done while Negan was in the hospital, I’m doing everything I can to put off that inevitable confrontation. I know it’s impossible for me to lie convincingly to Negan’s face, so it’s best that I keep my distance if I want to avoid getting chewed out for what I did. 

Continuing my neurotic cleaning of the whole house, I take my supplies to the one room I’ve been avoiding – Negan’s office. I have no particular reason for keeping away, other than I know my own natural inclination for nosiness and I’m afraid of what I’ll find if I snoop around. I’ve finally come to terms with Negan remaining in conjunction with the mob, but something tells me if I find out the specifics of his continued cooperation, I won’t be so confident in my decision. 

Creaking open the wooden door, I slide inside and click it shut behind me. The bright afternoon sun peeks in through the blinds covering the bay window directly opposite me. Pacing across the room, I set my cleaning supplies on the large mahogany desk and reach for the window coverings. Pulling at the thin string, I draw the blinds upward and let the sunlight illuminate the sizable room. Dust has gathered from the period of time that the room has seen little to no activity and the rays of light catch the particles as they float mesmerizingly through the air. 

On the desk sits an intricate gold lamp that I switch on, casting a warm glow over the papers spread across the wooden surface. Pushing the dust rag and bottle of cleaner to the far corner of the desk, I scan quickly over the papers in front of me. Mostly bills and bank paperwork, I find nothing of interest among the sheets. Chastising myself for invading Negan’s privacy for no reason, I sigh with relief as I gather the papers into a neat pile. I slide open a drawer to my left, intending to file the paperwork away and out of sight. Inside the now open drawer, I spot a large bundle of photographs, held together with a thick rubberband. 

I hesitate for only a moment before laying the handful of documents back on top of the desk and reaching into the drawer to extract the pictures. Unwrapping the band, I flip through the dated photos. Each one features various groups of serious looking suited men, some of whom I recognize and others foreign to me. In several shots, I recognize Negan’s father and my own among the groups of men. About halfway through the stack, I come across a picture of a much younger Negan, standing beside his cousin with his arm thrown over the shoulders of Richie Kuklinski. The reminder that the men had once had an amiable history before they became foes turns my stomach a bit. My throat tightens when I recognize the fourth young man lined up with the familiar faces. It’s the man I’d seen with Richie the night he tried to kill Negan. 

Leaning back in the plush leather office chair, I take a moment to ponder the matter; it’s something that has been weighing on my subconscious lately. I’d taken care of Richie, but there still remained the issue of the man who had been with him that night. I’d already given some thought to this fact recently, but given the circumstances, handling it wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities. Now that Negan is on his way to recovering, I consider the notion of finding the aforementioned stranger. He isn’t a man I recognize, but I’m sure I can do a little digging and identify him. 

Determined to finish what I’ve started, I reach out for the slender laptop perched upon the desk. Flipping it open and tapping the power button, I wonder where I’m going to start looking as the computer boots up. My easiest course of action would be to just ask Negan directly since he’s in the picture with the guy, but the thought of having to explain how I found the picture and why I want to know who the man is quickly shuts down that plan. My next course of action – though it may be entirely ineffective – is to look Richie up online and see what records I can find on him in the hopes that somewhere there’ll be documentation of his known associates. 

When the screen in front of me loads up, I open the internet and speedily input Richie’s name, hitting enter and crossing my fingers. Scanning quickly over the results as I scroll down the webpage, all I seem to have found is news articles about various trials Richie had been a part of. Of course, none of the charges filed against him ever stuck. As I well know, that’s the beauty of being a renowned and respected member of such a powerful syndicate; you’re virtually untouchable, you can literally get away with murder. 

Not seeing the results I want, I move on to my next solution to the problem at hand. That solution comes in the form of Lieutenant Alex Quinn. I’m not sure how agreeable she’ll be to helping, but I’m willing to give it a try. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I open my recent calls and find Quinn’s number. I jot it down on a piece of scrap paper, writing so quickly and sloppily that it’s just barely legible. Not wanting to leave any trace of my contact, I begin opening the drawers of Negan’s desk, looking for a burner phone. In the bottom left drawer, I hit the jackpot; a plethora of flimsy cells and ancient flip phones stare up at me. Grabbing at the cheap devices until I find one that’s managed to hold a charge, I snatch it from the drawer and punch in the digits written on the strip of paper in my hand. My leg bounces nervously as the line rings over and over before a soft feminine voice graces my ears. 

“Is this a secure line?” I ask immediately, not wanting to divulge even a microscopic amount of information before knowing that what I say is going to be kept confidential. 

“ _Yes_ ,” comes the short reply. 

“It’s Izzie Moretti, I need your help,” I admit. 

“ _Are you safe? Is everything okay?_ ” The lieutenant’s instant concern is touching and I appreciate her continued interest in my well-being. 

“I’m fine, yes. I just need a small favor,” I reply. “Some shit went down and Negan was in trouble, but he’s okay now. Two guys tried to kill us a few weeks ago. I handled one of them, but I don’t know who the other one is. I’m not sure if he’s gonna come back to finish the job, but I need to find him before he finds me.” 

I don’t know what prompts me to be so open and honest with Lieutenant Quinn. Seeing as she’s already helped so much and let us go after pretty much admitting her knowledge of our crimes, I figure I’m safe to confide in her. After everything, I can almost consider her a friend. At the very least, we have a common ground to stand on and even if we aren’t necessarily friends, we have a mutual understanding of one another. 

“ _So you need a list of known associates from the FBI database? _” Quinn implores.__

__I smile to myself at her immediate comprehension of my request, almost as if she can read my mind. “That’s exactly what I need. His name is Richard Kuklinski, but his alias is ‘the Iceman’,” I supply._ _

__“ _Okay, I’ll look into it and see what I can find_ ,” she offers. “ _A name isn’t going to help you since you said you don’t know who he is, so I’ll look up whatever names I find and see if they have criminal records. I’ll shoot you an email with their mugshots and you can see if you recognize anyone_.” _ _

__“That’d be great,” I quip happily. Reciting my email address over the line, Quinn says it may take her a while to access the database, though she’ll get me the information within the week. Thanking her for her cooperation with the high-risk favor I’m asking of her, I end the call and move to clear away any evidence of my presence in Negan’s office._ _

__Easing the computer shut and replacing the burner phone and the photos in their respective drawers, I quickly return everything to it’s rightful place. Before I shut the top drawer, I spot a pack of cigarettes tucked into the corner of the drawer. Curling my lip at the offensive object reminding me of Negan’s worst vice, I snatch the sagging cardboard packet out of the drawer and stand to stuff it into my pocket so I can toss it into the trash once I’m finished cleaning._ _

__• • • • • • • • • •_ _

__It’s been only 4 days since my communication with Lieutenant Quinn, but I’m already on edge with impatience. Negan is healing rapidly and I’m running out of time to put my plan into action before he’s back on his feet and capable of blocking my way. Of course, if I don’t hear back from Quinn, there won’t even be a plan to execute._ _

__Still avoiding Negan’s scrutiny and attempts at conversation, I worry that it’s becoming more and more obvious just how blatantly I’m trying to escape him. As the effect of his medications becomes less and less, I know he’s bound to be so aware of my evasiveness that it’s all going to come to a head and he’s going to say something to me._ _

__After a long day of distracting myself with grocery shopping and more unnecessary cleaning, I’m downright exhausted and ready to sleep. Climbing the stairs, I enter the bedroom as quietly as possible. Stripping down to my underwear before throwing on one of Negan’s over-sized t-shirts, I slip gingerly into the bed beside his unmoving form. With my back facing him, I assume he’s asleep until I hear him inhale loudly and shift to roll over. I can tell by the pattern of his breathing that he’s awake. Plus, the feeling of his stare burning into the back of my head is a dead giveaway, too. Trying my best to remain utterly motionless, I manage to convince Negan that I’m either asleep or unaware that he’s awake. Either way, he doesn’t try to interact with me, thankfully._ _

__Eventually, Negan’s breathing evens out, but I remain conscious. Though I’m totally wiped from my long day, I can’t seem to fall asleep. I toss and turn as delicately as I can so as not to wake Negan. Between my unrelenting mind running amok and the humid air coming through the cracked window, the possibility of sleep begins to slip through my fingers. Throwing the blankets from my now sweating body, my frustration grows until I give up trying to get any sleep and just remain on my back, staring blankly at the white ceiling overhead. Developing a strong sense of boredom after only a short while, I heave an agitated sigh through my nose as I rise from the bed to leave the room._ _

__Trotting lightly down the stairs, I head for Negan’s office. My constant thoughts of waiting for Quinn’s email are part of what’s keeping me up, so I figure I’ll check for her response and maybe it will help ease my stress. Plopping into the softness of the upholstered chair, a sense of déjà vu overcomes me as I turn on the computer once again and wait for the screen to come to life. Clicking the desktop icon for the internet, I hastily log into my email account, watching as a measly amount of messages flow into my inbox. Filtering through the names indicating the sender of each correspondence, my shoulders sag a bit when Quinn’s name is nowhere to be found. In desperation, I even check my spam folder, to no avail. _Give it a few more days_ , I tell myself as I close out the window and shut the computer. _ _

__Raising from my seat, I stroll over to the long couch in the center of the room. Hoping the cool leather of the piece of furniture will help my heated body in it’s fruitless quest for sleep, I settle into the plush cushions and curl up. Closing my eyes, I focus on the rhythm of my breathing, lulling myself into a light slumber before long._ _

__The sharp resonation of shattering glass startles me from my insubstantial dozing only a few minutes later. Jolting up from my prone position, I jump from the couch, careful not to make a single sound. I sneak to the corner of the office where I last left Negan’s deadly bat. Wrapping my fingers around the smooth wood, I move slowly in a crouched position toward the door. Glad that I left the door slightly ajar so that I won’t have to make a sound turning the knob, I ease the door open, praying that the hinges don’t creak. The tinkling noise of someone moving broken glass reaches my ears and I freeze mid-step in the pitch black hallway._ _

__I wait for several moments for any more commotion coming from the direction of the kitchen. With the bat raised above my shoulder and ready to strike at a moment’s notice, I pad slowly down the hall. The soft sucking sounds of my sweaty feet sticking to the cool wooden floorboards seems deafening in my state of heightened awareness. I wonder for a moment if I’m overreacting; maybe in my half-conscious state I’d just imagined the sound. No one could possibly have gotten into the house, not with the measures of security Negan has._ _

__Being in the house alone after what I’ve been through has me more paranoid than usual. Tommy hasn’t been around since the night he let my secret slip, so my lack of human contact isn’t helping my small bout of psychosis. Convinced that someone has returned to finish off me or Negan, or maybe both, I steel myself and prepare for my attack. Tightening my hands around the weighty bat, I take a deep breath and venture closer to the kitchen. Just as I extend my leg and step forward to round the corner, the movement of a dark figure catches my eye. With a sharp gasp and a powerful swing, I whip the bat around, ready to take out the apparent intruder. I manage to slow and redirect the trajectory of my swing, just narrowly missing the tall figure as a familiar voice booms through the silent house._ _

__“What the fuckin’ Christ, woman!” Negan yells, both shocked and enraged, his hands raised and ready to protect himself from my attack. “You tryina kill me in my own fuckin’ house?!”_ _

__My eyes wide with fear and my arms frozen in place, I release a forceful breath. “ _Oh_ ,” is the only word I can mutter as I realize my mistake. _ _

__“What the hell, Izzie?” Negan prompts, clearly still looking for an answer._ _

__“I’m…I just…I thought I heard glass break and I thought someone broke in…I…I’m sorry,” I stumble over my words as my mouth struggles to work past my utter astonishment._ _

__“It was just me,” he declares in exasperation._ _

__It’s then that I realize Negan has a broom and dustpan clutched in his hand. From over his shoulder, I can see the reflection from the shards of glass scattered across the floor. Shutting my eyes and letting out a shaky breath, I see that it really had just been Negan; I freaked out and almost clocked him for no reason._ _

__“The hell’s gotten into you lately?” I open my eyes and furrow my brow at Negan’s words before he continues. “You haven’t said more than two words to me in over a week, and now you’re walkin’ around more paranoid than a goddamn turkey on Thanksgiving. What’s goin’ on?”_ _

__“Nothing, it’s nothing. I’m fine,” I dismiss his concerns quickly. At his look of disbelief, I assure him that nothing is going on. “Really, I’m okay. I’m just tired and stressed. And I guess a little paranoid with everything that’s happened.”_ _

__Negan’s expression and demeanor change immediately at my admission. His face morphs from angry to sympathetic in a flash. Reaching for my hand, he leads me to the tall barstools tucked under the breakfast bar at the counter and urges me to sit. Opening an upper cabinet door, he takes out a glass tumbler and snatches a bottle of expensive whiskey off the counter. Noticing the late hour displayed on the clock, I wonder what Negan is even doing up, but upon seeing the bottle of alcohol paired with the now broken glass, I can assume he’s had no better luck sleeping than I have. Pouring two fingers of amber liquid in the glass, he screws the cap back on before sliding the drink towards me and nodding in my direction. I swallow the entirety of the glass in a single gulp, breathing out as the alcohol burns it’s way down my throat and relaxes me almost immediately._ _

__“I know this shit ain’t easy for you, Izzie,” Negan murmurs, breaking the quietude surrounding us. “I’ve been a real asshole and you don’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”_ _

__Nodding in understanding, I respond wittily, using my humor to ease the tension. “I get it, your delicate manhood was threatened so you lashed out. All is forgiven,” I joke with a crooked smile._ _

__“Yeah, yeah,” Negan jests with a roll of his eyes, returning my smug smirk. “Seriously though, thank you. For everything. For takin’ care of my dumb ass,” he offers, taking my hand in his much larger and warmer one._ _

__I acknowledge that Negan is trying to be sincere with his gratitude and take on a more solemn tone when I respond this time. “In sickness and in health, right?” I retort._ _

__“Hey, you haven’t technically made that vow yet,” he contends, taking the conversation back in a humorous direction._ _

__“Oh, so does that mean there’s still time for me to back out?” I ponder sarcastically with false enthusiasm. I giggle lightly when Negan steps around the counter situated between us, a serious look on his face as he wedges himself between my thighs._ _

__“Not a fuckin’ chance,” he whispers earnestly. He places a firm kiss against my lips before leaning back to regard me intensely. “The second you hand me back my balls, we’re finally gonna take those vows and I’m gonna make you mine.”_ _


	52. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

I squint my eyes slightly at the brightly illuminated screen of the computer in front of me as I open the long-awaited email from Lieutenant Quinn. Opening the attachments, I speedily click through the hordes of mugshots and records she has sent. There’s an unexpectedly large number of photos belonging to Richie’s associates; as I delve deeply and near the end I feel my hope rapidly deflating. Finally, a familiar face pops up on the screen. Though his face is younger and slightly different, I know immediately this is the man I’m looking for.

Enlarging the photo, I begin to read through the information listed beneath his photo. His name is Emilio Cacuzza; 43 years old, his record boasts only small misdemeanors and minimal jail time. It seems odd that someone with evidently so little experience had been running with a member as eminent and brutal as Richie. Locating the portion of the form indicating his occupation, I see that he owns a local bakery in the outskirts of Miami. I quickly print the document and shut the computer, turning to grab the single sheet of paper from the printer tray. Folding the page into a small square, I stuff it into my bra and exit the office. 

On my way into the bedroom, Negan emerges from within the attached bathroom. With a towel slung low on his slim hips, his wet hair releases several rivulets of water along his shoulders and chest. He regards me for a moment as I gather an armful of clothes across the room. 

“You goin’ somehwere?” he asks lowly. 

“Just have to run some errands,” I offer. “I’ll be back in a little while.” Tossing a small smile in Negan’s direction, I shift my feet nervously as I await his reaction. 

“Alone?” he implores with a tone of displeasure and his eyebrows shooting up in question. 

“Tommy is coming with me,” I fib easily. It’s not entirely a lie; I intend to meet up with Tommy and have him accompany me for what I have planned, I just haven’t let him know he’s coming with me yet. At the mention of Negan’s cousin, anxiety rises in my chest. The subject of Tommy’s unintentional confession still hasn’t been brought up and I’m hoping to keep it that way. 

At Negan’s hum of response, I relax slightly, realizing that he thankfully isn’t going to start the conversation I’ve been avoiding thus far. Heading for the bathroom, I skirt awkwardly around Negan’s tall form just outside the doorway as I close myself up inside. Stripping as fast as I can, I’m careful not to let the folded piece of paper fall out of my bra. I slip into a pair of distressed jeans and a v-neck t-shirt. Adjusting the shirt, I make sure my cleavage is appealing, though not slutty. I need any amount of distraction to aid with today’s endeavor. 

When I reopen the door, I find Negan perched upon the corner of his large bed, now dressed only in a pair of snug black boxers. As I exit the bathroom, I can see Negan struggling to redress the incision along his arm from his surgery, so I move across the room to help him secure the gauze just outside the edge of his cast with a long strip of medical tape. Our eyes meet for a moment before Negan’s gaze drops to my slightly exposed chest. He blatantly leers at me as he licks his lips and I feel a wave of heat course through me. Clearing my throat, I glide soundlessly across the soft carpeted floor and slink into the closet to pull on my favorite pair of well-worn combat boots. I re-emerge and Negan is still staring at me, a more serious expression on his face now as he rests his elbows on his spread knees. 

“I’m just curious,” he begins, “were you plannin’ on avoidin’ talkin’ to me for the remainder of your life or just until I’m too old and senile to remember what Tommy said the other day?” 

Freezing where I stand, Negan’s recollection of Tommy’s statement hits me like a physical slap to the face and I rock back on my heels. I should’ve known it was too good to be true for anything to slip past Negan’s diligent observance. With my throat suddenly dry, I clench my fists at my sides, carefully choosing my next words. 

“Well, you’re already old, so I guess I’m just counting on the dementia,” I jibe, as usual staying in my comfort zone and trying to deflect any uncomfortable situation with my inappropriately placed sense of humor. 

A menacing look sweeps over Negan’s visage as he quirks a single eyebrow in disapproval. “Don’t make me take you over my knee and remind you how I feel about your smart mouth, little girl,” he warns roughly. 

I feel my cheeks heat up with a deep blush and my thighs clench instinctively at Negan’s words. It’s been so long that I’ve gone without his touch that even the mere mention of it is enough to elicit an enthusiastic response from my body. Blowing a steadying breath through my nose, I shift my gaze around before returning to Negan’s eyes as I bite my lip nervously. Negan lifts his arm and crooks a single finger, gesturing me to approach him. 

“Come here,” he demands. Twisting his wrist, he uses the same finger to point to the spot between his outspread thighs, indicating exactly where he wants me. “Now,” he adds, a hard edge to his voice. The firm tone of his words instantly prods my feet into action. 

Negan leans back slightly, sitting up straight as I stride over to him. The moment I’m within reach, he wraps an arm around my hips, bracing his palm against my lower back and pulling me into his lap. I ease myself onto his muscular thigh, careful not to lean my weight against any of his still-healing injuries. Grunting lightly, Negan adjusts my position before threading his arms around me and locking his fingers together atop the hip not pressed against his abdomen. 

“What was Tommy talking about, darlin’?” he prompts, getting right down to business. 

I squirm uneasily in Negan’s tight hold, feeling awkward with the whole situation. While I’m glad to not have to make eye contact with Negan, the extremely close proximity of our conversation is making me uncomfortable. I know that’s his intention, to make a blatant show that I can no longer run away from the matter – a point he’s making quite literally. 

“Just some stuff I had to take care of,” I murmur passively. I’m not sure why I choose to beat around the bush, it’s inevitable that Negan isn’t going to let this go until he gets the answers he’s looking for. Still, I decide to drag this on as long as possible before Negan can draw out the truth I’m terrified to admit. 

“What stuff?” he huffs, his hot breath brushing across the side of my face. 

“Um, stuff with Richie,” I supply, keeping my responses vague. I know Negan doesn’t remember the crash and he has no idea that Richie is the one responsible for it, so I wonder if he thinks my interest in Richie has to do with the confrontation at the party. 

Sighing in agitation, Negan squeezes me impossibly closer to his bare torso, his voice colored with just a bit of anger when he speaks again. “You can make this easy or you can make this hard, either way I’m gonna find out what happened, Izzie,” he declares. “Now, _don’t_ make me ask again…what did you do?” 

Seeing that making this difficult is going to get me absolutely nowhere, I decide to just tell Negan the truth. We’re both stubborn as hell, but I don’t have the energy to defy him so I surrender. Inhaling and exhaling shakily, I mentally brace myself for whatever reaction Negan is going to have to my confession. Being so close to him and knowing how explosive he can be, a tiny tendril of fear wraps around me, but I push past it. 

“I didn’t want to tell you this before because you had just woken up finally and you were already dealing with so much, but Richie is the reason we crashed that night.” From the corner of my eye, I see Negan’s head tilt up fractionally when he hears my words. Refusing to look directly at him, I continue. “He ran us off the road and after I pulled you from the car, he came back to see if we were alive. He told me he wanted you dead for killing his uncle.” I pause momentarily, steadying my breath and fighting against the tears filling my eyes. Not letting the collecting moisture escape, I squeeze my eyes shut; I’m done crying over Richie’s unsuccessful attempt on Negan’s life. “You almost died because of me. He tried to take you away from me and I couldn’t let him get away with that, I had to do something,” I state, my voice more stable and confident. 

An extended silence stretches between us, the only sound in the room is our combined breathing. I wonder what’s going through Negan’s head and how he’s going to react, though I don’t make my nervousness visible. Sitting perfectly still perched upon Negan’s leg, I wait patiently for him to yell or scream or throw me to the ground. 

“You killed him?” Negan asks, his voice surprisingly low and calm. 

I nod my head, barely enough for him to notice my response. Unsure what to expect, I wait with bated breath. Lowering my gaze, I look down as I begin to twiddle my thumbs in my lap. 

“Did Tommy help you?” Negan implores with genuine curiosity. At his request, I turn my head in his direction and meet his eyes before I verbally confirm his suspicion. We stare into one another’s eyes without saying a word. Unable to read Negan’s expression and incapable of sitting through another second of uncertain silence, I ask the one thing I’ve been mulling over from the start. 

“Are you angry?” I ask, my voice tiny and ridiculously timid. 

Negan hesitates for only a single second before answering. “No, I’m not angry,” he whispers gently. “Shit, I’d be a hypocrite if I was. I woulda done the same thing if our positions were reversed. Probably woulda done a hell of a lot worse, too.“ 

My body visibly relaxes in Negan’s arms, relieved that he isn’t pissed at me for what I’ve done. Running a hand through my thick hair, I find myself glad that this conversation is over with; it’s a massive weight off of my shoulders. Feeling Negan’s long fingers grasping my chin and pulling my face towards him, I rotate my head to look at him. 

"Were you so afraid of me being pissed that you had to avoid this for as long as you did?” he asks in a teasing tone, letting me know that he was aware of what I was doing all along. Seeing my sheepish shrug, Negan smiles gently. “Hey, I understand why you did it. I know I can be a real asshole about this kind of shit, but I can admit when you’re right. Plus, I like knowin’ you were doin’ it to protect your man,” he taunts with a sly wink. “I’m proud of you, baby.” 

Leaning my head against his shoulder, I wrap an arm around his neck and cling tightly to his warm skin. I sigh dreamily when I feel Negan place a firm kiss to the top of my head. Raising my head, I press my lips to the coarse hair covering Negan’s jaw. “You need to shave,” I complain with a giggle before climbing from Negan’s lap. 

“Uh huh, whatever,” he dismisses. “Get outta here, you got shit to do,” he commands, laying a harsh slap against my ass as I walk away. “And tell Tommy I’m gonna kick his ass for corruptin’ you!” he yells as I pass through the doorway. 

Peeking my head back into the room, I dispute Negan’s statement. “I was corrupted long before Tommy came along,” I purr in a velvet smooth voice before twirling away from the bedroom. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

“So where we headed, kid?” Tommy asks as we cruise through the streets of downtown Miami. 

Pulling the folded piece of paper from my bra, I relay the address to Tommy as he navigates the car through a series of turns. Hyped up on adrenaline and excitement, I shift restlessly in my seat next to Tommy as the drive seems to drag on. 

“What is this place anyway?” he questions after several minutes of quiet, drawing me from my thoughts. 

“It’s a bakery,” I offer shortly. “That’s where he works.” 

“You know bakeries are closed on Mondays, right?” he prompts, sparing a quick look in my direction. 

“Yep…they’re closed to the public, but Mondays are when bakers spend all day baking and preparing their shit for the week. Which is exactly why this is the perfect opportunity for us to pay him a visit,” I retort cockily. 

“I see you did your research,” Tommy responds with a crooked smile. “Can I assume you got a name for this guy?” 

“Emilio Cacuzza, you know him?” I wonder. 

“Yeah, I know him,” he confirms with a serious voice. “Been following Richie around like a lost puppy for the last few years.” 

At the mention of Richie, I remember that I’d asked Tommy to bring something along to assist me with my plan. “Did you bring it?” I request excitedly as we pull up to a red light. 

“It’s in the glovebox,” Tommy says, nodding in the direction of the dashboard. 

Quickly flipping the compartment open, I locate the familiar firearm inside. Pulling out the heavy weapon, I recognize it from when I’d first seen Tommy confiscate it from Richie’s pile of bloody remains in Negan’s garage. I run my fingers over the deeply carved letters along the frame of the gun. The distinct _RLK_ etched into the metal is an obvious clue indicating the owner of the gun and a vital part of my scheme. Digging into the messenger bag placed between my feet on the floorboard, I feel around until my fingers wrap around the cool metal cylinder of the silencer I’d thrown in before leaving the house. I line the suppressor up with the muzzle of the gun and twist the device into the threads inside the barrel, turning until it’s fully inserted and secure. 

We turn onto a nearly empty street lined with quaint and dated little shops and several cars parked along the narrow sidewalks; a place most inconspicuous for the blitzkrieg we’re bringing along like an oncoming storm. The car rolls slowly along the cracked and crumbling pavement as I observe the passing structures intently. Midway down the avenue, I spot the establishment we’re searching for. Pointing out the old-fashioned facade of the modest bakery, I instruct Tommy to park a little ways down the sidewalk; close enough for us to make a speedy getaway, but far enough away that we won’t be spotted by anyone milling around inside. 

Tucking the gun into the bag at my feet, I sling it over my shoulder as Tommy and I both climb out of the car. Standing across from each other on the sidewalk, he gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

“You got this?” he questions softly. With my nod of confirmation and a confident smirk, Tommy leans against the side of the vehicle and crosses his ankles. Yanking the elastic hair tie off my wrist, I pull my hair into a bun and slip a plain black baseball cap from my bag to tuck over my head. “Two minutes, I’ll be right behind ya, kid.” 

Giving a thumbs up, I adjust my shirt, pulling it down and allowing the deep-cut neck to accentuate my breasts before I turn and stroll along the sidewalk toward the bakery. “I’m sorry you’re missing out on my Oscar-worthy acting,” I toss cockily over my shoulder. My bright and joking tone is mostly for Tommy’s benefit to let him know I really am ready for this, but the light-hearted comment helps to calm my own nerves. 

When I reach the glass front of the building I’m headed for, I find the front door locked. I’d been expecting this since I know the business is closed today. However, inside I can see the lights are on, confirming that someone is inside working. With a deep breath, I put on my game face and prepare for a most convincing performance. 

Raising my hand, I rap my knuckles harshly against the double-pane glass door in a repetitive staccato pattern. It takes a moment, but soon I spot movement from within the building as a man emerges from behind the counter I can see inside. The closer he moves to the door, the more clearly I can see his face. When he’s standing directly on the other side of the door and I hear the lock disengage, I can positively identify him. Right in front of me stands Emilio Cacuzza. 

For a second, I panic and wonder if he’s going to recognize me and my plan is going to be shot. I know a cap is hardly a decent disguise, but without any makeup and with my distinct red hair hidden, I look just like any other average woman. Not letting my worries disturb my determination, I wait patiently as Emilio pushes the door open, the sound of suction as he breaks the seal on the weather strip between the door and the jamb nearly echoing down the deserted street. 

“I’m sorry, we’re closed, ma'am,” he apologizes, his voice sounding genuinely contrite. 

“Oh no,” I lament, immediately launching into my aggrieved act with an obnoxious, ditzy voice. “I have a _super_ important party at my new job, but I burned the cupcakes I made. I really, really need your help, please. I need this job, I can’t screw this up. I’ll pay you double, please, I’m desperate.” I mentally pat myself on the back for my frazzled and distraught whining; I’d be able to convince even the most dubious person. 

Emilio regards me suspiciously for a moment before his eyes drop momentarily to my uncovered chest and his face softens as he sighs heavily. Extending his arm to widen the already open door, he steps aside, making enough room for me to pass by. 

“Okay, come inside, I’ll see what I can do,” he offers, letting me inside. 

Stepping through the door, my nose is instantly filled with lots of sweet smells mixing together, creating a warm and sugary bouquet in the air. Emilio sweeps past me, taking his place behind the counter as he pulls out and assembles a plain white cardboard box to load up with saccharine treats. 

“How many do you want?” he requests, peering over the glass-fronted counter as he awaits my answer. 

“About two dozen should do it,” I state with a sweet smile. I watch as Emilio piles a variety of cupcakes into the box before assembling a second box and filling that one as well. Setting the boxes down, he ties a thin piece of red and white string into a bow around each one. The nostalgic wrapping of the boxes is reminiscent of all the traditional Italian bakeries back home in New York. The memory of taking trips every weekend with my father serves as a reminder for why I’m here; I’m taking control of my life, owning who I am, protecting what’s mine, and making my father proud. 

“Anything else I can get you?” Emilio prompts, pulling me from my thought. 

“Some cannolis?” I call out, deciding to treat myself to one of my absolute favorite desserts. Emilio fills a third, smaller box with the creamy pastries before placing it on the counter next to the register. He turns around to the surface behind him where he’d left the boxes of cupcakes and lifts them. Just as he turns around with his hands full of the boxes, the bell on the door behind me jingles musically. Without turning, I know it’s Tommy who has just come through the door. The sound of the metallic lock snapping into place and shutting us all in confirms that suspicion. 

Emilio’s face falls, an expression of fear and dread blanketing his features. His reaction to the sight of Tommy is all I need to see in order to know that he recognizes the man standing behind me. Based on his body language, I don’t worry about Emilio trying to flee as he seems too confused to even consider that possibility. 

“What is this?” he wonders aloud, his voice serious and shaky. “What’s going on?” 

“Don’t you recognize me?” I beseech, my tone far less civil and inviting than it had been only moments ago. “Surely you remember my husband, Negan Giovanzo?” I note the way the word “husband” rolls smoothly off my tongue and how right it feels coming from my mouth. 

The fearful look upon Emilio’s face increases ten-fold at my revelation of my identity and somehow that fact fills me with a sense of satisfaction. He knows he fucked up and he knows he’s about to pay the price for it. I can’t wait to give this bastard what he deserves. 

“No please, you don’t understand,” he pleads desperately. The pathetic sound of his begging only makes me want to get this over with sooner. “I didn’t mean to hurt him…or you. Richie is the one who actually hurt you. I was just following orders from the mob to help him, I had no choice.” 

“Orders from who?” I demand sharply. 

Emilio hesitates for a second, his lips quivering and jerking as he decides whether he wants to reveal that bit of information. I assume he thinks telling the truth is going to earn him any bit of mercy because he ultimately decides to identify his shot-caller. 

“Charles Luciano,” he mutter nervously. “He sent Richie and I after y'all that night. But you’re both still alive so it’s okay, right?” _Lucky put out a hit on us?_ I muse, briefly shocked before promptly returning my attention back to Emilio’s pleading words. 

I laugh loudly and bitterly at his ridiculous notion, nearly cackling at the idea that he truly believes he’s going to get out of this, especially after proving himself to be a rat. Sensing the emotionless and derisory quality of my laugh, Emilio’s countenance becomes one of panic and dawning realization. _He’s fucked_. 

Slipping my nimble hand into the open zipper of my bag, I wrap my hand around the gun hidden within. When Emilio spots the movement, he instantly drops the cupcake-filled cardboard boxes from his grasp with a heavy clatter and whips around to snatch a stainless steel spatula from the work surface at his side. Before I can defend myself, he launches the utensil in my direction with impressive force. Not reacting fast enough to block the incoming object, I’m struck across the cheekbone and my head snaps back with the power of the blow. 

With a sharp pain and instantaneous throbbing ache spreading across my face paired with the blazing, offended anger coursing through me at his bold action, I lift my arm, squeezing the trigger and firing a single shot in Emilio’s direction. A loud crack echoes through the small space of the bakery; even with the silencer, the firing weapon is booming, though not quite loud enough to draw much attention. When the bullet exits the chamber, Emilio’s form abruptly disappears behind the counter. 

In the aftermath of the gunshot and with my ears still ringing, I struggle to hear even the tiniest sound of movement from beyond the counter separating me from the man now on the floor. Not hearing anything, I decide to check for myself to make sure this is finished. Walking to the small section of counter where the register is perched, I vault myself over the surface and land on the opposite side with a dull thud emanating from my booted feet. Crouching alongside the crumpled body of the baker on the floor, I carefully observe his face and the blood pooling beneath him. Spotting the small, oozing hole in the center of his forehead and the lack of life in his eyes, I hum in admiration at my handiwork and precision. Around his neck sits a thin silver chain with a small medallion, which I easily snap and pocket. 

Hearing a shuffling from over my shoulder, I peer behind me to find Tommy leaning across the counter with his hands braced on the granite surface. Gesturing a thumb to the body next to me, I raise my eyebrows and nod my head, trying to goad Tommy into complimenting me on my successful kill. Much to my dismay, Tommy merely smiles and rolls his eyes playfully at my smug behavior. Standing from my crouched position, I spare one last look at Emilio’s lifeless form. 

“Well, you know what they say…don’t bring a spatula to a gun fight,” I sigh facetiously as I look down at the slumped corpse with false pity. 

I hop back over the counter with the gun still clutched in my hand before I remember our plan. I unscrew the silencer and drop it back into my bag before zipping it shut. Lifting the edge of my t-shirt, I rub the material over the grip, barrel, and slide stop of the handgun, wiping it clean of my fingerprints. With Tommy already heading for the exit, I toss the gun haphazardly to the floor with a loud clatter. Once someone finds Emilio’s body, the police will find the gun marked with Richie’s initials and that’ll be the lead they follow; hopefully my ploy of planting evidence will ensure a seamless getaway. 

As I head for the door, I whirl back around as a thought occurs to me. Striding back to the counter, I snatch the small cardboard box from where Emilio had left it before I resume my hasty escape. “Leave the gun, take the cannoli,” I mutter waggishly to myself as I swing the door open and traipse back to Tommy’s waiting car.


	53. Double Talkin' Jive

On the drive home from the bakery, I ask Tommy to stop at the store so I can pick up some makeup. The impact of the spatula had caused bruising and a small gash on my face that would be easy enough to cover up. The swelling however, is going to be much more difficult to hide. Smearing layers of various concealers and foundations to cover my injury as Tommy drives, I wonder how I’m going to explain my obvious wound to Negan when I get home. I flip down the sun visor to glance at my shoddy makeup application in the small mirror before releasing a sigh and snapping it shut again. When I look up, I see we’ve arrived back at Negan’s house. I take a deep breath, swallow my apprehension, and step out of the car with a short farewell to Tommy.

Striding up the front steps with my box of cannolis in hand, I unlock the door as quietly as possible and shut it without bringing too much attention to my presence. The house is eerily silent and none of the lights are on downstairs. I stand absolutely still on the welcome mat, listening intently for any sort of movement or hint as to where Negan may be. Not hearing a peep, I slip my shoes off and pace into the kitchen. Moving stealthily, I tiptoe to the freezer and pop the door open as slowly as physically possible so as not to make a sound. I realize how ridiculous it is to be sneaking around my own house, but my fear of having to admit yet another morally questionable endeavor to Negan eases my self-consciousness just a bit. I reach into the freezer to pull out a mystery bag of frozen vegetables to press against my puffed up cheek. When I yank the bag out, a second bag joins it, nearly falling to the floor. With cat-like reflexes, I manage to snatch the bag mid-air, stopping it before it hits the ground and gives me away. Gently shoving the additional bag back to it’s rightful place, I softly shut the freezer. 

Leaning my back against the hissing refrigerator, I press the chilly plastic to my cheek for several minutes. From above me, I hear the floorboards creak, giving away Negan’s presence upstairs. Whipping around, I toss the bag of frozen veggies into the freezer and sneak back into the entryway. My steps stutter in several directions as I try to decide where to go, wavering each time I pick a plan of escape before changing my mind and considering a different path. 

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath as I hear Negan’s thumping steps approaching the staircase that I’m standing beside. Twirling around, I trot silently to the opposite end of the house, heading quickly down the hall as I hear Negan descending the stairs. I sidestep hastily into the dark bathroom, obscuring myself inside as I gently click the door shut. _Why the fuck am I even hiding from him?_ I wonder, mentally berating myself for my skittish behavior. I know full well Negan would never hurt me, but I can’t help the anxiety and dread I’m feeling about what will happen if he finds out what I’ve been up to all day. I don’t regret what I’ve done, but I’m unsure how Negan will feel about me going out on my own to handle such serious issues. 

The sound of his steps trekking along the hall I’ve just run down interrupts my thoughts. I take a step back from the door as he closes in, holding my breath as his steps grow louder with each passing second. When the sound of his bare feet stomp right past the bathroom, I release the air from my lungs with a loud whoosh. I hear him make his way into his office, though I wait several minutes before I make a move. 

Ready to bolt from the dark room, I grip the door knob tightly and twist my wrist in small increments until the latch releases. As light filters in and eradicates the pitch blackness, I open the door further, just enough to squeeze through the opening. My heart skips a beat when the hinges of the door emit a loud, moaning creak just as I step into the hallway. 

“Izzie?” I hear Negan’s muffled voice from just beyond the open door of his office. Frozen in place, I bite my lip in distress as I weigh my options. I can’t run without making a ton of noise and I can’t hide because Negan will come to investigate the sound I’ve already made. Rolling my eyes upward, I decide to bite the bullet and face the formidable man down the hallway. _He’s your fiancé for fuck’s sake, stop being so scared_. 

Not bothering to cover the soft sounds of my socked feet swishing across the wooden floors, I stride determinedly into the doorway of Negan’s office. He sits behind the desk, dressed in a half unbuttoned dress shirt and a pair of slightly wrinkled slacks. My stomach clenches at the sight of him back in his usual attire; not only is he well enough to finally wear something other than sweats, but he looks damn good doing it, so it’s a win-win situation. His bare feet are propped up on the surface of the desk, though he drops them to the ground when he sees me. 

“When did you get back?” he asks conversationally. He leans forward to brace his elbows on his desk, watching me intently. I’m standing awkwardly half inside the threshold, the injured side of my face hidden behind the door jamb. 

“A few minutes ago,” I offer. “I was just in the bathroom, you must’ve walked right by me.” 

“Hmm,” he responds, picking up a pen and turning his attention to something more interesting on the desk in front of him. “Come in and talk to me,” he commands softly. 

I hesitate momentarily, not wanting to leave the safety of my cover in the doorway. Realizing I have no way to avoid this confrontation, I step from the shadowy hall and enter the room. It takes Negan a moment to finish whatever he’s scribbling on the paper in front of him before he glances up at me. His usual smirk adorns his face, but when he takes in my appearance his face immediately falls. 

“What the fuck happened to your face?” Negan implores icily. The blatant anger in his voice causes goosebumps to spread along my arms. 

“It’s just a little bruise,” I answer, hoping my light tone and small smile will make him back off. 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he nearly snarls. “What _happened_?” I stare in Negan’s direction, unable to form words. I can’t bring myself to lie to him, but I also can’t seem to make myself admit the truth. When my silence carries on and Negan continues to stare at me expectantly, I see his thin patience snap quite easily. “Where the fuck were you today, Izzie?” he intones in a dangerous tone as he stands from his seat. I remain silent until he slams his large palms against the surface of the desk and barks my name again; the combination of his loud, angry voice and the threat of his aggressive gesture prompting me to finally speak. 

“Tommy and I went looking for someone, okay?!” I yell, my fear and stress causing me to bite out a response with more of an edge than I’d intended. 

“Lookin’ for who? What does that mean?” he asks impatiently as he steps around the desk. For whatever reason, when I see Negan approaching, I take a hesitant step backwards. He notices my movement and I immediately see the pain in his eyes at my fearful reaction. I’m not necessarily afraid of him, but I can’t help my instinctual response to his looming and intimidating presence. 

Negan stops moving toward me, instead taking a step back to lean against the edge of his desk, the two chairs situated on this side serving as a barrier between us; a subtle sign of surrender. “It was like pullin’ teeth to get you to tell me about Richie, don’t make this a repeat of that,” Negan warns, reminding me that I’ve been making a habit of going behind his back lately. “This honesty thing works both ways, darlin’,” he states, gesturing between the two of us. “I need you to trust me and stop bein’ so goddamn afraid of me.” 

Hearing the seriousness and distress in his voice, I give in. I don’t know why I’m being so deceitful and stubborn. After nearly losing Negan, I’m so terrified that something I do is going to push him away, which keeps making me want to keep secrets from him. 

“We went to find the guy who was with Richie that night,” I confess penitently. We lock eyes and I wonder if I should tell Negan the whole truth about what hunting the man down consisted of. _In for a penny, in for a pound_. “I took care of him. He’s dead.” 

At my admission, Negan throws his head back, blowing an exhausted sigh towards the ceiling. He crosses both his arms and ankles as he regards me with a displeased look that makes me squirm where I stand. 

“This…ends here,” Negan declares, pointing an accusatory finger in my direction. “No more goin’ behind my back or lyin’, is that understood?” I wrap my arms around my body and nod my head faintly. “You’re done with this fuckin’ cowboy shit, too, Izzie. That isn’t how I handle my business.” 

The sound of Negan’s voice makes me feel like a misbehaving child and I immediately go on the defensive. “Oh yeah, because you’ve always handled your shit so clear-headed and fairly before, right?” I snark angrily. 

“My business is exactly that, Izzie… _my_ business,” he fires back. “I don’t need you gettin’ involved and puttin’ yourself in danger with things that don’t concern you.” 

“Those men _hurt_ me, Negan. I’m sorry if you thought it was your battle to fight, but I did what I needed to in order to reconcile what they did to me,” I defend. Before he has a chance to respond, I speak again. “If I had told you beforehand, would you have let me handle it?” 

“Not a chance in hell,” he retorts immediately. “I’d never knowingly let you put yourself in danger.” 

“And that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you,” I offer in a placating voice, trying to ease the tensions between us. “Someone wronged me and I wanted justice so I got it. I sure as hell don’t need a man to handle my shit for me.” 

Negan observes me for a moment with raised eyebrows, his face contorted in an expression of insolence. I can already tell that he knows I’m right and isn’t going to pursue the subject further. He knows I’m not going to give in so he lets it go. 

“Shootin’ first and askin’ questions later is not a method you can live by,” he reprimands, still not willing to let me out of this one without at least a little chewing out. “You can land us both in some deep fuckin’ shit goin’ around killin’ motherfuckers like that. You _know_ these kinds of things gotta go through the Families first. You need their approval to take out a made man…and you just whacked two of ‘em, love.” 

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” I reply in a tired voice as I move towards Negan and flop into one of the chairs in front of him, picking the one furthest from his outstretched legs. “Lucky is the one who sent them to kill you. Even if I didn’t kill off two higher-ups, the Five Families want you dead either way.” 

I stare up at Negan’s blank expression, waiting to see how he’s going to react to my revelation. His face shows no sign of any emotion; I can see in his eyes that he’s considering my words, but he quickly changes the subject. 

“What’s up with this sudden bloodlust you got goin’ on?” he prompts. “Since when do you handle problems by offin’ motherfuckers?” 

“Since those motherfuckers tried to take you from me,” I retort coldly. “No one gets away with that. Trying to just teach them a lesson wouldn’t have been enough, they would’ve done this again. So I made sure they couldn’t touch us anymore.” 

Negan regards me skeptically from his propped position, his eyes scanning over my face and his expression unsure. Before he can respond to my words, I rise from my seat and take several steps towards him. “This is who I am, Negan. This is who I’m supposed to be. I grew up around the lifestyle and I know how to navigate my way through it,” I assure him, moving to stand directly before him. “I’m meant to be here, by your side.“ 

His face softens immediately at my declaration as he reaches out to place his warm hands on my hips. “That may be the case, but if anyone finds out what you did, we’re both fucked,” he reiterates. "No more of this, you hear me?” 

Taking a deep breath, I know he’s right. While my actions were justified and I’d done what I had to protect us both, there’s still a very real chance that we remain in danger. The most I can do is hope that no one ever finds out what I’ve done. Negan’s soothing voice draws me from inside my own head as he pulls me closer. 

“C'mere and let me look at you,” he demands in an exasperated whisper. He drags me close enough that our hips press together as he reaches up towards my injured visage. Running a long thumb under my bruised cheekbone, he’s careful not to apply pressure to the painful, swollen skin. I shut my eyes as Negan clicks his tongue at me in disapproval before pulling me close and making me promise not to do any more crazy shit. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

“I don’t know if I should trust you holdin’ a razor so close to my throat, doll,” Negan gripes, running his fingers along the side of his neck as he regards me skeptically from the other side of the bathroom. 

“Honey, if I wanted to kill you, you would already be in the ground,” I reply sweetly as I cross the room carrying a straight razor and a can of shaving cream. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises with a toothy grin. 

Grabbing a clean towel off the rack, I toss it onto the countertop next to where Negan sits waiting, perched atop the lid of the toilet. I lay the razor on top of the plush towel before squirting a generous amount of shaving cream into my palm. Negan glances up at me, his height making his eyes almost level with my chin even from his seated position. Rubbing the white foam between my hands, I step forward to stand between Negan’s spread knees. I press my hands against the overgrown hair covering his chin and cheeks, coating his face in a thick layer of shaving cream. 

“You sure about this?” I ask softly as I make sure to coat every inch of his chiseled jaw. I step back to rinse my hands in the sink as Negan assures me that he wants to go through with this. He’d asked me earlier to help him shave his beard and no matter how much I tried to convince him just to trim it, he stubbornly insisted that he wanted it all gone. 

Picking up the razor, I carefully unfold it before gripping Negan’s chin and tilting his head up and to the side. I press the blade against the right side of his face, applying gentle pressure as I drag it down his cheek to his jawbone. I turn to clean the razor on the towel, leaving a streak of dark hair behind as I wipe the blade off. I repeat my motions again, slicing through a second section of beard hair and slick cream. My face twists into a disappointed frown as I take in the bare half of Negan’s face. 

“Don’t pout, baby,” he placates. “Just think how nice my silky smooth face is gonna feel between those pretty thighs.” 

My breath hitches at Negan’s deepened voice as he wraps a strong hand around the back of my leg to pull me closer to him. Warm air puffs from between his lips and across my chest as he gently circles his thumb against the outside of my thigh. The proximity of Negan nearly coaxes a moan from my throat, but I manage to contain myself. I enjoy the intimate moment for a bit longer before I remind myself of the task I should be finishing. Returning my attention to Negan, I feel him place his other hand on the opposite thigh, causing me to look down. The sight of the cast still surrounding his healing arm serves as a reminder for how long his injuries have been an impediment in our sex life. 

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, big guy,” I lament in an aggrieved tone. I try to back away to put some space between us, but Negan maintains his tight grip on my legs. He refuses to let me go until I drop my eyes to his and meet his fiery gaze. 

“Oh, I intend to finish it,” he promises, his words heated and whiskey smooth. “I’m sick of havin’ the world’s worst fuckin’ case of blue balls.” 

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face at Negan’s vulgar words, though his groping touch is still distracting. When he shifts a hand higher to grab a handful of my round ass, I feel a heat growing in my core. Finally managing to pry myself out of his hold, I lightly slap his hands away and set about shaving what remains of his facial hair. 

With the last of his beard gone from his face, Negan stands to rinse his face at the sink. I close the razor and toss the dirty towel into the laundry hamper in the corner before making my way into the bedroom. Hearing movement from behind me, I turn to see Negan standing in the bathroom doorway, his tan face unusually naked and perfectly smooth. 

“Whaddya think?” he implores, spreading his arms wide and watching me expectantly. 

“’S'okay, I guess,” I offer as I stand at the edge of the bed, barely able to hold back the laugh bubbling up in my throat. The sight of Negan without his beard is odd and unfamiliar, but he still looks gorgeous. 

“Just okay?” Negan prompts, stalking slowly across the room. 

I bite my lip, failing to hide my playful grin as I watch him approach. Once Negan reaches me, he wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me up as I lock my legs around his hips. When he gathers me into his arms and shifts his hands to the backs of my legs to support my weight, I reach up to caress my fingers along his hairless skin. Using my grip on his jaw, I bring our faces close, immediately smashing our lips together in a heated kiss. I nip sharply at Negan’s lower lip, prompting a throaty growl from him as I feel his hardening erection pressing against me. 

He drops me gently onto the mattress before stripping out of his clothes. By the time he’s fully undressed, I’ve only managed to remove my t-shirt and bra. Ever impatient, Negan tucks his fingers into the waistband of my pajama shorts and panties, swiftly pulling them both over my long legs. 

“I missed this sweet pussy,” Negan purrs, immediately parting my legs and lowering himself to place fervid kisses to the soft skin on the insides of my thighs. I squirm eagerly beneath him as he takes his time dragging his lips toward the apex of my thighs. The sensation of his velvety skin rubbing against me is strange, though that doesn’t make it any less enjoyable. 

Just before Negan can reach my sodden folds, I twist my hips, bracing my foot against his torso to push him away. Not giving him a chance to react to my movements, I grab his uninjured arm, yanking hard enough to pull him onto the bed beside me. Settling onto my knees, I swing a leg over his hips, straddling him and resting my butt against his tense thighs. Negan watches with hooded eyes and a crooked smirk as I scoot forward, grinding my heat along his stiff length where it rests upon his stomach. The friction between us immediately causes his smile to vanish, replaced with an almost pained grimace of pleasure. 

“You better fuckin’ sit on my dick before I jizz all over myself like a goddamn teenager,” he grinds out through clenched teeth. He digs his fingers harshly into my ass and pulls me further up the bed. 

I can feel the tension wracking Negan’s body and he’s practically vibrating under me. Feeling just as desperate as him, I reach down to wrap my fingers around him; his cock rock-hard and burning hot. Lifting my hips, I place the head of his manhood against my dripping entrance, lowering myself at an unhurried pace. I struggle to control my breathing as my body adjusts to Negan’s thick girth. Unable to wait any longer, I drop my hips, slamming against Negan’s hips and taking his entire length inside me. 

“Ah, _fuck_ ,” he calls out, almost yelling in the quiet room as his face contorts in ecstasy. With his large hands squeezing my waist tightly, Negan lifts his legs behind my back and braces his feet against the mattress. “Shit, you’re so fuckin’ tight.” 

I press my palms to Negan’s already damp chest, stabilizing myself as I swivel my hips rhythmically. The dim bedroom is filled with a symphony of sighs and moans as I gyrate against him. Throwing my head back, I revel in the sensation of fullness, glad to finally put an end to my long-running and involuntary bout of celibacy. It doesn’t take much for my neglected body to reach it’s climax and I begin to bounce frantically atop Negan as he rubs his thumb in tight, fast circles against my clit. 

Negan grows more vocal as he nears his own release, groaning loudly and snarling filthy words of encouragement as he grips my hipbones and guides my rapid movements. Before long, the muscles of my thighs begin to shudder and twitch, my sharp nails digging into Negan’s firm chest. With a high-pitched scream escaping my parted lips, my walls clench around Negan’s throbbing length, gripping him with vice-like strength. My intense orgasm prompts Negan’s own climax, a loud moan rumbling from his chest as he explodes inside me, filling me with hot ropes of cum. 

Too weak to remain upright, I drop sideways, Negan’s softening length slipping from my spent body with a wet pop. Laying on my side, I feel the copious flow of our combined fluids seeping down my shaking thighs. I extend my arm to trail my fingers down Negan’s heaving chest and through the thin line of coarse hair leading between his slender hips. 

“Goddamn,” he huffs breathlessly as he flattens his hand against my lower back and drags me to his side. Twining his arms around me, the twitches coursing through Negan’s entire body are impossible to miss. 

“You’re trembling,” I whisper observantly. Looking up, I see his eyes are shut and he makes no effort to open them at my words. 

The only response I earn is a hissed shushing sound and Negan’s heavy leg thrown over my thigh. Pressing my sweaty skin against Negan’s, I ignore the abundant heat emitting from his body and the musky stench of sex surrounding us. Somehow everything in my world feels right again. With a pleased smile splitting my face, I easily drift into a deep sleep; wrapped in Negan’s arms, exhausted and sated.


	54. Wonderful Tonight

After nearly 3 weeks of healing and countless doctor’s appointments, Negan is finally back to normal. For the most part, anyway. The only lasting effect he’d suffered from the accident was occasional memory loss. He’d understandably had no recollection of the crash or most of the night leading up to it, but since leaving the hospital, he’s been having bouts of amnesia; something that hadn’t been obvious right away with how doped up he was. Thankfully, it has just been small things so far; not being to recall the date or forgetting things he’d done the day before. I hadn’t noticed anything was different about Negan until one day I found him wandering around the house, disoriented and confused. I immediately contacted Dr. Campbell who assured me that Negan was likely suffering from traumatic amnesia and that once his brain had healed entirely, his memory loss would lessen and eventually go away on it’s own.

Now that he’s back on his feet, Negan is insistent that we move forward with our wedding. I’m in no way opposed to the idea, though the matter of such a serious commitment quickly becoming reality has me somewhat nervous. Much to my relief, Negan and I have agreed not to have a ceremony, but rather a very informal and clean-cut officiation. Seeing as the only local people we know are old friends of Negan who I’m not comfortable surrounding myself with, we thought it’d be best not bothering to invite anyone. Plus, it saves me the grueling task of having to actually plan the wedding. 

Moving lazily through the spacious kitchen, I prepare a steaming cup of coffee as I wait for Tommy to show up at the house so we can make plans. He’s volunteered to officiate our so-called wedding and is currently at the courthouse registering for a license to marry. Leaning against the counter, I tap my fingertips anxiously against the blistering mug cradled in my hands. The peal of the doorbell echoing through the entryway of the house causes me to jump and spill a puddle of hot coffee across the granite countertop. Thumping my mug onto the surface, I leave the mess behind as I make my way to the door. 

“What’s up, kid?” Tommy greets the second I swing the door open. I reciprocate with a small smile, pulling Tommy into a tight hug and kissing him on the cheek. 

I start a casual conversation as we make our way back to the kitchen and I pour a second cup of coffee for Tommy. We discuss what I want for the ceremony, deciding I want to keep it as simple as possible. I’ve never been one for parties or big celebrations and that’s certainly not about to change now. 

“You sure you aren’t gonna change your mind down the road and decide you want a big ol’ fancy wedding?” Tommy teases from across the kitchen. 

“I’m positive,” I assure him. “I hate big gatherings and I don’t need a flashy party, this is gonna be more than enough. I had a hard enough time convincing Negan to do something simple, so I’m not gonna go back on my hard work now.“ 

Tommy and I share a laugh at that, both knowing just how stubborn Negan is and how difficult it was to talk him out of a huge wedding ceremony. He has a knack for the dramatic, though I think we’ve both decided that we don’t want to waste any more time or risk something else getting in the way of our union. 

“So when are we doin’ this thing?” Tommy asks, slurping down the remainder of his coffee. 

“Negan suggested this weekend,” I offer with a slight grimace. 

“You good with that?” he wonders as he takes note of my less than thrilled expression. 

“Yeah, I guess. I’m so nervous about it, no matter when it happens I don’t think I’m ever gonna be ready,” I admit. 

I squirm awkwardly after confiding in Tommy and confessing my fears. There’s no reason for me to be so afraid; I love Negan and he loves me, but I’m stressed out regardless. 

“What the hell are you nervous about? He loves you more than anything, kid. You know that, right?” Tommy implores pointedly. 

“I know, I know,” I defend. “It’s just everything happened so fast between us, I didn’t even have time to prepare for…this. I know this is what I want, it’s just hard to wrap my head around everything.” 

Tommy nods his head understandingly with a grin, needlessly reminding me that I’m running out of time to try wrapping my head around everything that’s happening. We continue talking for a while longer when Tommy jokingly mentions me shopping for wedding dresses. 

“Do you think Negan expects me to wear a wedding dress?” I gasp in a shocked tone. I hadn’t even considered wearing an actual dress, not really seeing a point in following any tradition since we aren’t having a typical wedding. 

“You can show up in a goddamn garbage bag and you’d make him the happiest man in the world,” Tommy placates kindly. “Although if you wanna wear a dress, let me know. I’ll get my wife to take you shopping and help you find something.“ 

I smile warmly at Tommy’s offer, touched by his generosity and his continued desire to take me under his wing and make sure I’m taken care of. Though I’ve opted not to have a big wedding, I find myself in fact wanting to wear a wedding dress. Perhaps not your standard dress, but some part of me does want that tiny bit of the fairytale. Thanking Tommy, I tell him that I’d love for him to set up an outing with his wife and I, already thinking about what kind of dress I want to look for. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

Staring at my reflection in the foggy mirror, I take several deep breaths and try my best not to hyperventilate. With a towel wrapped around my damp body, I scrub a second towel against my wet, tangled hair. Grabbing my brush off the counter, I drag it through my messy curls before slathering a small amount of product into my natural waves. I dig through my makeup bag, pulling out some eyeliner and lipstick, deciding to go for a subtle look. No matter how much I try to calm myself, my hands are shaking too much for me to even try applying my makeup. Just as I blow out a frustrated breath and toss my eyeliner pencil onto the vanity in defeat, a soft knock sounds from the doorway. 

“Izzie? It’s Carly,” a soft voice calls from outside the bathroom. Before I have a chance to respond, Tommy’s petite wife slips into the humid bathroom, regarding me with a sympathetic look. 

“I can’t do my makeup,” I whine pathetically, my stressed state of mind nearly sending me into a frustrated fit of tears. 

“Okay, lemme help,” Carly soothes with a soft chuckle. I drop heavily onto the closed toilet, watching as she flicks through my measly pile of makeup with her dainty hands. In the few days we’ve spent together, Carly and I have grown close, developing an immediate connection given our highly similar male counterparts. 

Still trembling with nerves, I settle in as Carly sets to work on my face. I shut my eyes as she smudges various powders and creams across my eyelids and over my lips. After a few quick minutes, she instructs me to open my eyes, stepping back to admire her work. With a satisfied nod, I rise to my feet to check the finished product in the mirror. Though the makeup is simple, it’s stunning and compliments my face well. I take a moment to appreciate my own reflection before Carly’s tinkling voice calls from the bedroom, mumbling something about my dress. 

Entering the room, I find Carly standing at the foot of the bed with two pairs of shoes in her hands. “Which ones?” she prompts with an encouraging grin, holding each pair out and putting them on display for me. In one hand she holds a pair of tall, black pumps, in the other a pair of low-heeled strappy sandals. 

Settling on the pumps, I make my way into the walk in closet, slipping open the chest of drawers containing piles of thin, frilly, and lacy undergarments. The drawers are overflowing with a plethora of lingerie that Negan occasionally gifted to me; I like to think he does so to spoil me, but deep down I know it’s for purely selfish reasons. I slide open the last drawer, pulling out a black and red set of underwear; something I purchased recently as I surprise for Negan. Today seems like the perfect opportunity to spring it on him. 

Dropping the damp towel from my body to pool on the floor, I unfold the tiny scraps of lacy material. I thread my arms through the straps of the simple bra, adjusting it so it lifts my breasts perfectly, creating a tantalizing amount of cleavage. Slipping the minuscule thong underwear over my hips, I pull the criss-crossed straps of the waistband so they sit delicately across my pelvis. The final touch on my devilishly sexy get-up is the intricate lace garter belt and sheer thigh-high stockings. Feeling empowered and confident decked out and wrapped up in such luxurious underwear, my nerves ease a little and give way to a feeling of excitement. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re gonna bring that poor boy to his knees,” Carly announces as she observes me from the entry of the closet. Whipping my head around, I give her a shy smile, running my hands down my sides and self-consciously smoothing my minimal outfit. “Let’s get you dressed and married,” she chirps animatedly, twirling around to return to the bedroom. 

I follow close behind Carly, walking to the bed and gathering up the black gown laid delicately across the comforter. I hadn’t wanted a traditional wedding and the dress I’ve chosen is certainly _anything_ but traditional. Sliding the lightweight material over my body, Carly zips up the back before gripping my shoulders to turn me in the direction of the full-length mirror hanging upon the wall. The lower half of the floor length evening gown is dark, flowing, and inornate; the halter top style neckline comprised of beautiful, elaborate lace. 

Releasing a puff of air, I’m fascinated by my own appearance. I smile widely to myself at how great I look and how much I can’t wait for Negan to see me. Carly stands by my side, meeting my eyes in the mirror and nodding her head approvingly with a grin of her own. Just then, Tommy strides quickly into the room, observing the pair of us staring into the mirror. 

“You ready to get this show on the road, Black Beauty?” Tommy ponders tauntingly. “You look great, by the way.” Turning to face Tommy, I feel tears fill my eyes as I thank him and let him know I’m ready. 

“Hey now, don’t you dare cry that shit off,” Carly scolds when she sees the moisture gathering in my eyes. “You’ll ruin all my hard work!” 

Shooing her away with a flick of my hand, I tilt my head back, willing the gathering tears not to slip from my eyes and down my face. I gather my emotions quickly, taking one last deep breath before I stuff my feet into the sleek black pumps Carly proffers from beside me. Taking Carly’s hand we follow Tommy from the bedroom and into the hall. 

“Did you get Negan’s gift?” I call out toward Tommy’s back as he descends the stairs in front of me. 

“I got it handled, don’t worry,” he responds, shooting a reassuring smile over his shoulder. “You guys wait in the kitchen, I’ll let Negan know you’re ready.” 

I let Carly drag me into the kitchen, the combination of my towering heels and my wobbly knees causing me to stumble slightly. Snatching a half empty Svedka bottle off the counter, I unscrew the cap and take a quick gulp, hoping to give myself some much needed liquid courage. I flit my eyes to Carly, nearly choking on the acrid vodka at the baffled and amused expression upon her face. We share a hearty laugh and I already feel better with the alcohol working it’s magic to calm my nerves and warm my body through. 

Hearing a quick, sharp whistle from the double French doors leading to the back deck, I know it’s Tommy signaling us to make our way outside. I realize Negan is already outside and I wonder how long he’s been waiting for me. Threading my arm through Carly’s I give her a timid smile as we march our way to the door. 

From the doorway, I spot Negan standing near the opposite end of the vast deck. He’s outfitted with a sleek, tailored tuxedo; his dark hair slicked back and his regrowing scruff perfectly trimmed. My stomach flips and my heart pounds at how delicious and immaculate he looks. _This is really happening_. 

Not bothering with music or any pretense of walking down an aisle, I pace leisurely across the wooden veranda, my shoes clunking all the way. Negan quickly turns his attention on me at the sound of my loud steps, his face immediately lighting up with unadulterated glee when he sees me; eyes shining and cheeks carved deeply with dimples. I can’t fight the wide grin that splits my own face, my cheeks nearly burning with the intensity of my smile. 

The moment I’m within arms reach, Negan reaches for me, clasping my shaking hands in his slightly clammy ones. I find some sense of relief knowing he is just as nervous as I am. We share a meaningful look before Tommy interrupts, clearing his throat obnoxiously from beside us. 

“Well alrighty then,” he begins, a ridiculous smirk covering his rugged features. “We are gathered here today to celebrate by far the most fucked up love affair I have ever seen.” I choke back a laugh at Tommy’s words, rolling my eyes at the way he sounds more like a sports announcer than a minister. 

Plucking a small piece of paper from inside his suit jacket, Tommy flourishes it dramatically before reading the words written upon it aloud. “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud,” he orates, glancing up in Negan’s direction, subtly aiming those particular words at him with a smug smile. “It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails,” he finishes adamantly. 

I shift restlessly on my feet once Tommy falls silent. Blinking my eyes rapidly, I try to hold back the tears forming in my eyes. When Tommy instructs us to read our vows, I volunteer to go first, wanting to get mine out of the way before I burst into tears. 

“Never in a million years did I see my life going in the direction it did,” I start, my voice already shaky. “I didn’t think it was possible for me to ever love again, but you showed me how. You changed my life, you changed _me_. You helped me find myself and gave me every bit of happiness I ever could have hoped for. I wake up every morning thanking the universe for bringing you to me. There aren’t enough words to tell you how much you mean to me. I love you with all my heart and soul, Negan, and I always will.” 

I barely manage to get through my vows in one piece, my voice hitching and breaking throughout. A single tear rolls down my cheek by the end and my chest heaves with the beginning of a sob. I feel Negan’s thumbs rubbing gently against my knuckles, offering a small amount of comfort. Tommy turns his head toward Negan, eyeing him expectantly in preparation for his words. 

“Izzie, baby,” he whispers, pulling me a step closer to him and prompting me to tilt my head up to meet his eyes, having to accommodate his towering height. “You are a goddamn gift. You’re the strongest, most loyal, loving, and badass woman I have ever had the honor of knowing. You’ve given me so much of yourself, and I can only hope to be able to do the same.” 

All at once, the tears in my eyes spill over, trailing speedily down my moist cheeks. Negan releases one of my hands to promptly sweep his thumb under my eyes, wiping away the rolling droplets as he continues. “You never cease to amaze me. You are everything and more, far beyond what I deserve. You make me a better man. I promise to always stand by you, to cherish and protect you. You are my whole world, Isabella, I love you more than you can even know.” 

By the end of Negan’s vows, my face is utterly flooded with tears and I sniffle thoroughly so as not to make a snotty spectacle of myself. Tommy calls Carly over to hand him the rings before having us each repeat a verse full of promises of love, commitment, and faithfulness. My hands shake slightly as Negan and I slip the silver rings over each other’s fingers. Speeding through the required speech, Tommy quickly segues into the last step toward solidifying our union. 

Addressing me first, Tommy speaks in a less animated voice. “Do you, Isabella, take Negan to be your wedded husband, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to him, for as long as you both shall live?” he utters rapidly. 

“I do,” I promise, confidence and assurance clear in my tone. 

Tears continue to fall – though more slowly – as Tommy repeats the same beseeching words, now directed at Negan. I wait anxiously for him to finish and prepare for Negan’s following response. 

Staring deeply into my eyes with the smile now gone from his handsome face, he doesn’t disappoint. “I _do_ ,” he swears unwaveringly. The insistent and resolute look in his gaze takes my breath away. 

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride,” Tommy announces, the former humor and playfulness returning to his voice. “But wait for me to get a safe distance away before ya start sucking each other’s faces off!” 

Laughing at Tommy’s quip, I wrap my arms around Negan’s neck as he grabs me around the waist and lifts me off my feet. I press my lips firmly against his, chuckling giddily against his mouth when Tommy starts whistling loudly at us. Threading my fingers through his slick hair, I yank Negan impossibly closer as we kiss passionately. We ignore Tommy’s continued whistling and Carly’s adjoining catcalls; caught in each other’s embrace, the rest of the world falls away. 

Pulling away, Negan returns me to the ground and grasps the back of my neck, bringing me close enough to press his soft lips to the shell of my ear. “I love you, sweet girl,” he whispers, his breath blowing through the strands of hair bracketing my face. 

Out of nowhere, Negan backs away from me causing me to look at him questioningly. Before I can process what he’s doing, he bends at the waist, sliding one arm behind my knees and the other against my lower back and hauls me up into his arms. Carrying me bridal style, he makes his way into the house, passing by Tommy who predictably calls out for us to get a room.


	55. Gimme Some

Negan totes me effortlessly up the staircase and into our bedroom; the sunlight streams in from the large windows shining bright rays across the inviting bed. Dropping me gently to my feet, he kisses me vehemently for several minutes, his wandering hands coasting over every inch of me he can reach. Our lips separate with a wet smack as Negan stares down at me with a loving smile.

“I got you somethin’,” he offers with a cheeky smirk. 

His conspiratorial smile worries me and I’m infinitely more interested in his bed than his gift, but I accede, taking a seat on the corner of the mattress while Negan disappears from the room. His retreating steps echo through the hall and down the stairs before moving too far away for me to hear his movement any longer. Bouncing slightly on the plush mattress as I wait, I scan my eyes over the plain walls, wide windows and closed bathroom door. I can’t begin to imagine what Negan has up his sleeve. When his footsteps fall within earshot again, I turn to the open doorway just as he returns. My face instantly falls in shock and disgruntlement when I see what Negan is carrying. 

“That’s _not _fucking funny, Negan,” I scold, though I can’t help the incredulous and admittedly entertained laugh that distorts my words. Even from this distance, I recognize the black bag slung over Negan’s shoulder.__

__“Aw, c'mon,” he giggles. “I thought you’d want your money back.”_ _

__Rising to my feet, I stride over to him, playfully slapping his shoulder repeatedly in exasperation. I slip the worn zipper open, revealing the stiff bundles of green paper inside. This godforsaken bag of money is the _absolute _last thing I ever wanted to see again in my whole life. Shaking my head, I pull the bag from Negan’s shoulder and toss it back out into the hallway before slamming the bedroom door.___ _

___“I hope you got me an _actual _wedding gift,” I tease, feigning disappointment as I whirl on him and cross my arms petulantly atop my chest.___ _ _

___“Got a nice, big package right here for ya, baby,” Negan purrs, reaching down to grasp his crotch through his starched black slacks._ _ _

___A light blush of arousal colors my cheeks as Negan steps towards me, one hand braced beside my head against the closed door and the other still cradling himself. With a soft scoff and a frisky smile, I push lightly against Negan’s chest as I sidestep around him._ _ _

___Turning back to Negan once I reach the foot of the bed, I watch him watching me. I press my teeth into my lower lip, paying close attention to Negan’s heated look as I reach back to ease the zipper of my dress down. Moving painfully slow, my heart begins to race as Negan slinks closer and closer with each passing second. When the zipper is all the way open, I let my beautiful gown slide smoothly down my arms and past my wrists so it dangles precariously around my hips._ _ _

___Now standing mere feet from me, I keep my gaze locked onto Negan’s face; his expression fiery and trance-like. I’m surrounded by the sound of his steady breaths as he takes in every bit of skin I expose to him. With a slow, sensual shimmy, I slip the draped gown entirely off my body to pool against the soft carpet at my feet. As I slip out of my shoes and swiftly kick the bundle of silky material out of the way, Negan promptly closes the distance between us._ _ _

___“Is this my gift?” he breathes hotly, barely putting any force or volume behind the impassioned words._ _ _

___“One of them,” I confirm, sucking in sharply at the feeling of Negan’s light touch against my warmed skin._ _ _

___He brushes his rough fingertips just below my breasts, his nearly imperceptible touch tickling it’s way along my ribcage. Lifting his other hand, Negan repeats the motion on the other side of my body before trailing his hands over my lacy garter belt, along the hem of my panties and around to my backside. He digs his strong fingers into the plump flesh of my ass, using his tight grip to yank me closer. The second our bodies meet, I can feel the hard line of Negan’s cock pressing into my soft belly. Urged on by the irrefutable evidence of his arousal, I twist my hips, wiggling and grinding my weight into his erection all the while scratching my fingernails along his sensitive sides._ _ _

___“Fuck, look at you,” Negan growls, sliding his hands into my thin panties to grip my bare ass._ _ _

___Leaning forward, I reach up to remove the knot from Negan’s tie, dropping it to the floor before unbuttoning his shirt and wrenching it free from his fitted pants. I wrap my arms up around his neck, pulling myself close enough to place hot kisses against his neck and chest. I move quickly, sucking harshly against his salty skin to leave several marks upon his tanned flesh. A deep groan emanates from Negan’s chest every time my mouth caresses his sweet spots; each time he reacts to my touch, I skim my teeth along the sensitive points, paying particular attention to those areas with my persistent nips and sucks._ _ _

___All at once, Negan shoves a hand deeper into my underwear, reaching between my legs from behind to massage my already dripping folds. Standing on my tiptoes, I press myself against Negan’s bare chest as his exploring fingers skim against my swollen flesh teasingly. A high-pitched whine escapes me when Negan purposely circles his finger everywhere but my throbbing clit, the noise growing more pathetic when he pulls his hand away entirely as I try to shift my hips closer to his touch._ _ _

___“Do you have any idea what I want to do to you?” he prompts with a deep, strained growl. A shiver flashes through my whole body upon hearing his aggressive, needy tone. I can’t wait much longer for him to have his way with me._ _ _

___“Show me,” I whisper, biting harshly against his ear lobe as I hiss the words against the side of his throat._ _ _

___Almost immediately, Negan’s hands are pinched around my slender hips, fingertips digging deep and his hands pushing me closer to the bed. Throwing my head back, I moan enthusiastically as Negan’s plush lips drag along my collarbones and up the sides of my neck. With barely restrained desire, Negan returns the favor of the marks I’d painted across his skin with my own lips; leaving deep red blotches all along my flesh._ _ _

___“Get on the bed,” he demands tersely, his voice leaving no room for a refusal that will never come._ _ _

___Removing myself from Negan’s fixed grasp, I hastily heave myself onto the bed, crawling to the center before turning to rest on my butt and face Negan. I watch with interest as he drops his crisp, white shirt from his shoulders and then undoes his belt to drop his pants to the ground. Now dressed only in his tight black boxer briefs, Negan’s solid length is blatantly visible through the thin material. My mouth waters at the sight and I squeeze my thighs together to relieve some of the growing pressure in my core._ _ _

___Negan’s huge hands wrap around each of my delicate ankles, wrenching my thighs apart to impede my only source of relief as he yanks me down the mattress toward him. Now on my back, my chest heaves as I watch Negan massage his hands from my ankles to the back of my knees and then up to my twitching thighs; his fingers tracing the thin hold-ups connecting my garter belt to my sheer thigh-high stockings. When I angle my torso away from the mattress and reach for the clasp on the back of my bra, Negan lightly slaps my hands away._ _ _

___“Ah ah ah, _I’m_ supposed to be the one unwrapping my gift,” he chides in disapproval. _ _ _

__Flopping back down with a huff, I squirm in need as Negan slowly kisses his way from my stomach to my sternum, his hands running along my sides before burrowing beneath me. I arch my back to give him room to unclasp my bra, relieved when he manages to pop it open in record time before quickly slipping it off my body and tossing it beside us on the bed. Braced on his elbows, Negan scoots a few inches up the bed until he can reach to tops of my breasts. Lowering his lips to press against the pale skin, he covers the sensitive flesh with wet kisses then takes a nipple into his warm mouth. I groan excitedly as he twirls his tongue roughly, laving the bud in his saliva before giving the same attention to my other breast._ _

__I card my fingers through the thick hair at the back of Negan’s head as his insistent lips move up my neck and along my jaw before ultimately landing firmly against my mouth. Using his thumb, Negan pries my lower jaw open to shove his slick tongue between my lips, effectively claiming my mouth. When I lift a leg to wrap around Negan’s back and pull him closer, he immediately presses a palm against my thigh and pins it back to the mattress. Kissing me fiercely and applying more pressure to my trapped limb, his behavior grows more desperate and aggressive._ _

__Negan pulls away from my mouth, leaving me gasping for air through my red, swollen lips. His nimble fingers reach down to release my stockings from the suspenders before rolling the hosiery down my long legs and discarding the crinkled material on the floor. Working quickly, he wraps his thin fingers around the garter belt and pulls that off my body as well._ _

__Licking a hot, wet stripe up the length of my abdomen, he drags his moist lips back down along the tender skin of my stomach, stopping just between my hipbones with his humid breaths ghosting across my pelvis. Glancing up at me, he locks onto my eyes with a teasing glint in his gaze, knowing how much I want him to give me the stimulation I so desperately crave. Not caring for any further foreplay, I extend my arms, pressing my palms to the top of Negan’s head in an attempt to urge his mouth onto my aching center with a pitiful “please” falling from my parted lips._ _

__“Don’t rush me… _wife_ ,” he sighs, blowing hot air against my damp panties as he utters the words. “I’m going to take my sweet, _sweet_ time with you.” _ _

__I whimper shamelessly at the abrupt sensation of Negan pressing his lips to my slit through the thin material of my panties before nipping gently and occasionally tracing the sharp line of his nose against my clit. The stimulus causes a wave of moisture to drip from my body, thoroughly soaking my panties in no time. Negan lifts a single finger, pressing the silken material between my puffy lips as he slides his finger back and forth between my clit and my entrance._ _

__Before I have a chance to beg Negan to stop teasing me, my voice catches in my throat at the feeling of his teeth scraping just above my pubic bone as he takes the waistband of my panties between his teeth. Looking up, he straightens my legs beneath him as he backs away slowly, slipping my panties down my thighs as he goes. When my breathing increases, Negan notices immediately; flashing his perfect teeth in a victorious grin around the material clutched in his mouth as he lifts my legs from the bed, stepping away quickly and whipping his head back to pull my underwear entirely off my legs._ _

__“I did get you a gift, as a matter of fact,” he announces, dropping my panties from his mouth with a sly, hungry smile. “A few, actually. Let me show ya,” he offers, repeating my earlier words back at me._ _

__Not giving me a chance to react, Negan tosses away the lingerie in his hands as he drops to his knees, wedging his broad shoulders in the crooks of my knees and straightaway burying his face between my thighs. I let out a shocked scream at the first touch of his lips, nearly crying at the intense sensations he’s creating against my sodden folds. Negan wriggles his tongue with vigor, meticulously licking every bit of pulsating flesh between my legs. Much to my utter relief, he finally wraps his lips around my clit, sucking lightly against the hypersensitive bundle of nerves and immediately launching me into a feverish orgasm._ _

__With a constricting grip threaded around my quivering thighs and heavy pressure against my writhing hips, Negan doesn’t let up on his delightful assault, applying steady suction throughout my orgasm as my whole body convulses and my back bows with passionate tension. A symphony of screams and squeals slip past my lips, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes as Negan prolongs my climax with his unrelenting mouth. When I’m practically sobbing with pleasure, he finally relents, releasing my flesh from his mouth with a resounding pop as my body collapses limply back on the mattress._ _

__Panting hard, I desperately try to suck as much oxygen as I can into my lungs. Not capable of paying much attention to Negan, it takes me a second to notice him watching me intently. When I meet his eyes, his pupils are blown out and nearly black with lust and his face is split wide with a satisfied sneer._ _

__“That’s one,” he mumbles, his words barely registering in my clouded mind._ _

__Before I can process his movement and even hope to stop him, Negan’s tireless lips return to my dripping pussy, immediately working me toward another powerful orgasm with the sinful things he can do with his mouth. His tongue sweeps against me with persistence, slurping lewdly as he licks up every drop of arousal soaking my folds and the coarse hair blanketing his jaw scrapes deliciously against the creamy skin of my inner thighs. Unable to handle his determined ministrations, I twist the fingers of both my hands into Negan’s hair and put all my strength into tugging his tenacious mouth away from my body. Almost instantaneously, he reaches his arms up from where they’re wrapped around my thighs to grip my hands, threading his fingers between mine. Exercising strength far greater than my own, Negan pins our joined hands against the mattress at my sides._ _

__He glares intensely from his vantage point at the apex of my thighs, making sure to observe every reaction that passes over my blushing face. His tongue trails up one side of my lower lips and down the other before scooping up the moisture still seeping from my body and swirling around my clit. When Negan stiffens his tongue and prods my slippery entrance, my thighs slam shut around his head as a deeply satisfied moan drags from my throat. I tilt my hips urgently in a panic, trying to wriggle my way out of Negan’s grip and escape the frighteningly potent orgasm I feel approaching._ _

__“I got you babygirl,” Negan soothes, removing his mouth and giving me a reprieve for only a mere few seconds. “Let go for me.“_ _

__At his prompting, my climax hits me full force; starting from the soles of my feet where it curls my toes and races up my legs, through my core, and spreads throughout every inch of my body. The sensation is so intense, it feels as though I am on fire; my very blood tingling with the severity of my release. My mouth is agape with a silent scream as every muscle within me clenches so hard I’m afraid I am going to shatter into a million pieces._ _

__My mind shuts off completely with the other-worldly feeling floating through my veins. My limbs seem like they’re made of wet concrete and my skin feels electrified. I’m in my own world of ecstasy for several long minutes before the movement of Negan releasing me and draping his formidable body over top of me brings me back to reality. I glance up at him with glassy, faraway eyes, struggling to focus on his handsome face. The sound of my heavy breathing echoes in my ears, sounding strangely distant as if I’m in a tunnel. Negan doesn’t speak, only watches as I ride out my high._ _

__Eventually seeing that I’ve nearly returned to my body, he brushes his hand over my face, slicking my sweat-dampened hair out of my eyes and pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead._ _

__“There’s another,” he utters softly, his words finally clicking. _That’s one hell of a gift_. _ _

__Letting out a soft laugh at his idea of a wedding gift, I lift my weak, shaking arms to pull him into a tender kiss. With his body pressed against mine, I’m met with a very obvious reminder that Negan had been so determined to get me off, he hadn’t bothered with his own release. Not wanting to make him suffer any longer, I immediately grasp his boxers and shove them down his legs._ _

__“What, two wasn’t enough for you?” he wonders with a laugh. “Needy little thing,” he growls against my lips as I grind my hips upward, rubbing my heated center along his length and over the swollen head of his dick._ _

__“Please, Negan,” I beg lowly. “I want you to cum.“_ _

__I gasp noisily as Negan shoves his entire length inside me with a single thrust, nearly cutting off my wanton words in his urgency. Lifting my hips towards him, I meet his every thrust as he pounds into me mercilessly. Negan grunts deeply as he desperately chases his own release, thoroughly using my body to get there. My eyes roll back in my head, this coupling somehow more intense than any I’ve experienced with Negan before. My body is more sensitive and receptive to every sensation, so much so that I can feel each thick vein along Negan’s throbbing cock as it rubs against my rippling walls._ _

__I cry out frantically when Negan slows his pace, but deepens his thrusts. Pulling one leg up over his hip, he reaches a whole new depth within my body, nearly bumping my cervix with his efforts. Moaning repeatedly, I dig my fingers into Negan’s muscular arms as he continues to pump his hips with forceful precision. Before long, my body begins to shake all over again and my walls clamp down on Negan’s driving cock._ _

__When Negan picks up the pace again, I know he is close to his impending climax. Twisting my hips and squeezing along his length, I urge him more quickly toward his orgasm. With a deep, gravelly howl, Negan pulls his dick out so only the head remains within my body as he grips his length and pumps his hand swiftly. His knuckles bump against my wet folds several times before I feel his cock twitch as he empties himself just inside my soaked hole. He pulls out, immediately replacing his dick with his two long middle fingers. He pumps his hand several times, coating the slender digits in his warm, sticky cum before sweeping them up over my clit and rubbing zealously._ _

__“Cum for me, baby,” he requests adamantly, bracing his free on my thigh to keep my legs separated. “One more time.”_ _

__Negan shoves his slicked fingers back inside me, twisting them toward the front wall of my seizing channel and shaking his hand up and down harshly, filling the room with the sloppy sounds of my drenched pussy. When the veins in Negan’s arm begin to bulge from the efforts of his pertinacious attentions, I realize what he’s trying to do and immediately clench my fists into the soft comforter, bracing myself for what I know is coming. He continues plunging his fingers in and out of my body and rubbing the sensitive patch of flesh inside me before pressing his thumb methodically against my clit and instantly achieving the reaction he’d been hoping for. With my whole body spasming and jerking and my thighs trying to slam shut around Negan strong forearm, a flash of warmth accompanies a substantial rush of liquid as I cum ferociously, squirting all over Negan’s hand and arm._ _

__“God _damn_ , that’s a good girl,” he praises throatily, taking in the sight of my shivering body and the saturated sheets below me as he withdraws his dripping hand from the flood between my thighs. _ _

__“Oh my god, Negan,” I wheeze, my body utterly worn out but satisfied._ _

__Negan’s arms wrap around me, sliding me higher up the mattress and away from where the copious puddle of my release soaks the sheets. Lowering me onto the bed, he leaves one arm thrown across my hips as he flops face first into the pillows with a lengthy groan._ _

__“I did actually get you something, by the way,” he mumbles into the plush pillow, his words garbled and barely audible._ _

__“I don’t even care,” I huff out. “Give me a week to recover and then we can talk about it.”_ _

__We both chuckle tiredly as I burrow my head deeper into the pillow beside Negan. Neither one of us moves for a long while, both of us too spent to move and quickly slipping into unconsciousness. Just as I let my eyes droop shut, a stifled scratching sound from behind the closed bathroom door catches my attention. Recalling that I’d seen the shut door earlier and remembering my thought about how odd it was for it not to be left ajar, my eyes flick open as I realize what the noise is. _Thank you, Tommy_ , I express, mentally sending him my gratitude as I glance at the limp man next to me with an excited smile gracing my lips._ _


	56. Sweet Hereafter

“The hell’s that noise?” Negan mumbles into the pillow still smothering his face.

Nervous and excited, I pull myself into a seated position as the frantic scratching sound finally stops. “There’s something else I have to give you…a gift,” I announce eagerly, pushing roughly against Negan’s firm bicep to get his attention and force him to turn over. 

Negan grunts in annoyance as he flips his nude form around, settling onto his back with an arm thrown over his forehead as he regards me tiredly. I sit perched on my knees beside him, biting my lip to hide my growing smile, though my fidgeting gives away my obvious delight. 

“Alright, what is it?” he asks with little enthusiasm. “Tell me before you explode,” he urges as he notes my squirming. 

“It’s actually two things,” I offer. “The second is to make you feel better about the first.” 

At Negan’s beseeching expression, I climb off the bed and reach for our abandoned piles of clothing. Slipping his luxurious silken shirt over myself, I toss his discarded boxers in his direction, managing to land them directly over his face with an amused chuckle. 

On the other side of the room, I slide open the top drawer of the wide dresser, digging under the heaps of fabric as I reach toward the back corner. My fingers hit the hard edge of the object I’m searching for and I yank it out carefully. With the small box cradled in my hand, I turn to find Negan sliding his underwear up and over his long legs. Making my way back to the bed, I climb atop the mattress, crossing my legs as I take my place next to Negan. I hand over the black box, watching as Negan rotates it around in his hand, observing the container; it’s nondescript and plain, slightly larger than a ring box. 

Negan wraps his slender fingers around the base of the box, gripping it tightly as he pops the top open, causing the tiny hinges to creak quietly. Taking in the contents of the box, Negan’s visage is puzzled, though his expression is promptly replaced with a look of bafflement. I observe his reaction closely, knowing what he’s seeing. Inside the box sits a collection of pearly white teeth, nestled beside a chain upon which dangles a medallion depicting St. John the Baptist, the patron saint of prosperity, ironically enough. I see the moment Negan registers exactly what it is that he holds in his hand – a physical reminder of my loyalty to him and evidence of the lengths I am willing to go to for him. 

“You…are un-fuckin-believable,” he intones vehemently, drawing out each word as he raises his eyes to my face. “I’m one lucky son of a bitch. Thank you, Izzie…you’re too good to be true,” he huffs, his voice adamant and stupefied. 

I hadn’t been sure of how Negan would react to such a gift, but his gratified response fills me with relief and pride. Leaning forward, I twine my arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug as he presses a forceful kiss to my cheek. Negan snaps the box shut before yanking me into his lap so I’m straddling his strong thighs. 

“So what’s my other gift?” he wonders as he strokes his wide palms along my spine. “Is it a blowjob?” he asks, an obnoxiously hopeful grin splitting his lips and showcasing his bright white teeth. 

I throw my head back with an exuberant laugh at Negan’s teasing. Scooting backwards, I climb off his lap, practically skipping across the floor to the bathroom door. With my hand atop the handle, I twist it gently, opening the door as slowly and quietly as possible. 

The instant the door cracks open, a flash of black from across the room is accompanied by the violent and hectic scratching of claws against the floor. I watch in awe as a chunky ball of fur barrels toward me, coming to a stop in front of me as the over-excited puppy trips clumsily over his too-big feet. I exclaim pitifully as the pint-sized shepherd lands heavily on his chin, though he doesn’t let his spill stop him from wagging his tail vigorously before scrambling back to his feet and flying into the bedroom with his pointy ears flopping all the way. 

I follow the spirited pup, tracking his path as he makes a direct run for Negan’s shins. Before the dog reaches him, Negan hops hastily from the bed to crouch down at the level of the sprinting puppy. 

“Holy shit,” Negan utters as he glances up at me, his face alight with happiness as he catches the furry ball of energy in his hands. 

“I know no dog will ever be able to replace your girl,” I appease, referencing his beloved dog with a slight nod to the name tattooed on his forearm in homage. “But I thought we could give this little guy a good home.” 

At the mention of his late dog, Negan immediately tears up, choked up as he offers a strained word of thanks. It’s a sensitive subject for him and a sure way to make him cry, though that hadn’t been my intention. Upon seeing his emotional reaction, I approach him slowly, crouching beside him as he scratches fiercely behind the puppy’s ears. 

“His name is Ziggy,” I state, deciding to keep the name he had when I’d picked him out at the shelter. 

I smile warmly when Negan’s voice raises several octaves and he begins baby-talking to the wiggling puppy. “Look at these big goofy ears,” he coos, flopping Ziggy’s ears around in each of his hands. “Don’t worry, you’ll grow into ‘em, buddy.” At that, Ziggy lets out a sharp yip and flings himself into Negan’s arms, hopping up and down in the hopes of being picked up. The force of his wily motions knocks Negan off balance, forcing him to sit back on the bedroom floor. Negan pulls Ziggy into his arms and holds him to his chest where he proceeds to lick enthusiastically at Negan’s face. 

“My goodness, you’re excited, aren’t you?” he laughs, trying to angle his face away from Ziggy’s slobbering kisses. 

When Ziggy finally loses interest in licking every inch of Negan, he settles down and snuggles into Negan’s chest, his wagging tail still rocking his small body. Negan tightens his arms around Ziggy and places a big, smacking kiss to his fuzzy head. My heart melts at the sight of the big, tough Mafioso affectionately cradling a puppy as he croons sweetly to him. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

I squirm anxiously within Negan’s grasp as he leads me through the house with his hands covering my eyes. Not able to see, I listen to his soft directions, trusting him to navigate us to wherever we’re going without leaving me with any stubbed toes or bruised shins. I try to pay close attention to our path, using my attentiveness to determine where he’s taking me. At the sound of a door whooshing open, I recognize the distinct creak of the door leading to the garage. 

“Keep your eyes shut,” Negan commands as he removes his hands and leaves my side. There’s a loud click from behind me and I realize he’s turning on the lights. 

“Can I look now?” I beg in excitement, bouncing on my toes. The anticipation is killing me and I can’t wait to see what surprise Negan has in store. 

Negan places his warm hands gently against my hips as he leans in to whisper in my ear. “Open ‘em,” he offers. 

Flicking my eyes open, I quickly take in my surroundings, confirming our location. Directly in front of me sits a beauty of a motorcycle with a huge red bow wrapped around the silver handlebars. It takes me a moment to realize this isn’t Negan’s bike, but rather a smaller, more simple and compact one. Upon closer inspection, I recognize it as a Dyna low-rider; something much more suitable for me than Negan’s monster of a bike. 

“Thought you might want your own bike,” Negan states, interrupting my exuberant appraisal of the shiny machine. “Since you took it upon yourself to take a joyride on mine.“ 

Hearing the sharp implication in his tone, I immediately turn around to face him. Worried that he’s angry with me, I glance at him hesitantly. When I see the smug smirk across his face, I know he isn’t entirely mad at me for crashing his bike; it’s not as though it can’t be fixed. 

“You’re damn lucky you didn’t get hurt,” he growls, instantly making me question his level of annoyance. “You’ll be payin’ for that by the way.” 

“Just let me know how much it costs,” I respond, fully prepared to accept responsibility for the damages. 

“Oh, I don’t mean with money, babygirl,” he purrs, causing my cheeks to color at his darkly spoken words. The heat in my face increases as he grips my chin to pull me into a hot, dominating kiss before staring intently at my face with a serious expression. 

With quite possibly the worst timing, my stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly, reminding me that I haven’t eaten yet today. Between my lack of food and my rigorous activities with Negan earlier, I’m positively starving. I giggle in embarrassment at my interrupting stomach while Negan fights back an amused smile before grabbing my hand and dragging me back inside. 

Following Negan into the kitchen, my eyes immediately fall on a plain white box on the island in the center of the room. Taped to the package is a short, scribbled note from Tommy. 

_**Figured you might need something to help refuel. In the event that you leave the bedroom sometime this century, here’s some cake.** _

__

__

_**Cheers,  
Tommy**_

I release an amused snort at Tommy’s words before passing the note across the counter to Negan as I pop open the box. Inside sits a beautifully frosted cake, decorated with delicate pink and purple flowers shaped out of icing. Slipping a hand into the box, I sweep my fingers through the petals of one of the flowers, smearing the blossom and covering my digit in a thick layer of colorful cream. 

“ _Mmm_ ,” I moan enthusiastically when the sugary frosting hits my tongue. I pull my slick finger from between my lips with a wet pop, looking up to see Negan watching me fixedly with smoldering heat in his golden stare. 

Wetting my lips, I coat my finger with more frosting and lick the edges of the sweet froth before smudging a bit along my lower lip. “Want a taste?” I tempt with a coquettish grin. My provocation prods Negan into action almost immediately as he pads barefoot toward me and rounds the island to trap me with his strong arms braced on either side of me. 

“Of you or the cake?” Negan growls lowly, his hot breath blanketing my face as he speaks with his lips nearly touching mine. 

Not responding, I lift my hand to Negan, watching with rapt interest and arousal as he grips my wrist tightly and takes my sticky fingers into his mouth. He holds my gaze while he twirls his tongue around my fingers and sucks lightly as he cleans them thoroughly. As my fingers slip from his damp mouth, I streak the remaining frosting down his chin before standing on my toes to gently lick it off. 

Before I can drop my heels and return to my usual height, Negan’s hand shoots out in a flash to grip my elbow and yank me forward. Moving at a painfully slow speed, he leans in, inching his moist lips closer. Finally he presses his mouth to mine, catching my lips in an aggressive, scorching kiss. When he pulls away, I’m panting as I watch him lick his lips and tilt his head as if contemplating something. 

“Your lips are sweeter,” he whispers, brushing his thumb along my lower lip. 

Reaching into the box of cake a third time, I dig my fingers into the soft confection and grab a handful of the cake. Negan catches on to what I’m doing straightaway and he snatches my wrist before I can move. 

“Don’t even _think_ about it,” he warns, his icy tone lacking any amount of playfulness. 

I press a hand against his bare torso, trying to push him away with one arm. I put all my strength into it, though I can’t seem to move him even a fraction of an inch. Pushing uselessly against his statuesque form, I shift my hand and slide it down his side. The moment my nimble fingers press along his barely visible ribs, Negan lets out a noise slightly resembling a yip as he releases my cake-filled hand to protect himself. _No way_ , I think as I realize what he’s just revealed to me. In attempt to confirm my suspicions, I reach out and jab my fingers into his ribs again. When he twists violently away from me with a loud exclamation, I unleash a wicked, gleeful laugh. 

“Are you _ticklish_?” I wonder aloud, blatantly teasing him. The stormy look that comes over Negan’s visage only makes me laugh harder at his newly unveiled weakness. 

“Knock it off, Izzie,” he snarls. 

The seriously offended tone of his voice over something so ridiculous only prompts me to redouble my efforts to taunt and torture him. Using my clean hand, I manage to wriggle around his defensive slaps and prod his sensitive sides once more. This time he groans in frustration as he tries his best to capture my wandering hand in his. Realizing that I now have the upper hand, I take advantage of his distraction and swiftly lift my cake-smothered hand, slapping it right across the left side of Negan’s face. The unexpected assault takes him completely off guard and he stands there with his mouth hanging open for a moment. 

“You are _so_ gonna regret that, sweetheart,” he intones coldly. 

Between the warning in his voice and the angry look on his face, I quickly dash out of Negan’s reach and skirt the kitchen island, placing it in the middle of us. Before I have a chance to escape, Negan reaches into the box of cake, scooping up his own handful and chucking it violently in my direction. The soaring glob of cake whips through the air and smacks loudly against my chest. I scream in shock as the force of the impact causes frosting to spray up and over my face. 

Not bothering to waste time walking around the counter, Negan braces his palms on the granite and springs clear over the surface in a show of impressive agility. When he snatches the entire cake out of the box, I make a run for it. I can hear the speedy slaps of his bare feet behind me as I run through the house before circling back around to the kitchen. By the time my feet hit the tile of the kitchen, Negan catches up to me and latches a massive hand around my forearm. I whirl around and try my best to rip my arm from his grasp, but I don’t have a chance to escape before Negan hurls a handful of cake right at me. At the last second, I manage to raise a hand to block at least some of the cake, but a majority hits me directly in the face. Using the remnants I’ve managed to catch in my act of defense, I smush a mixture of crumbs and frosting from Negan’s forehead all the way down to his chin. 

Wiping the drooping frosting out of my eyes, I cackle heartily at the sight of Negan’s filthy face. We’ve managed to make a complete mess of the kitchen floor, not to mention our own disheveled appearances. I snort loudly when Negan spits frosting and crumbs from his mouth before speaking. 

“You’re in trouble now, little girl,” his deep voice oozes from beneath the layers of destroyed dessert. 

I squeal loudly when Negan pushes me toward the counter and bends me over the hard surface. I don’t have a chance to react when he yanks my jeans and underwear right down to my ankles. All laughter and amusement is gone when he uses his sticky palm to spank my ass harshly several times. Now breathing heavily, I twist my hips frantically, not sure if it’s an invitation or a means to get away from the stinging slaps courtesy of Negan’s strong hand. 

“That was for trashin’ my bike,” he rumbles as he leans his weight against my back. “And this is for you disobeyin’ me and misbehavin’.” 

At that, Negan spins me around and roughly pushes against my shoulders, urging me to my knees. From this vantage point, I’m vividly aware of Negan’s growing erection. When he yanks his boxers and sweatpants down to his thighs, there’s no denying how turned on he is. 

“Open your fuckin’ mouth,” he demands, leaving no room for argument. 

I drop my lower jaw and stick my tongue out, peering up at Negan with innocence. The look on my face seems to set him off as he grips the back of my head and shoves his entire length into my mouth. The tip of his swollen cock bumps the back of my throat, causing me to fight past the strong gag that tightens my throat. Without warning, Negan starts to pump his hips furiously, effectively fucking my face. Tears spill from my eyes and lines of saliva drip from my chin as he uses my mouth and throat for his pleasure. He pulls completely out of my mouth and I gasp awkwardly, my face a wet, sticky mess. Only giving me a short break to catch my breath, Negan hastily shoves himself back into my mouth and resumes his brutal thrusting. 

“ _Fuck_ , that’s it. Swallow my fuckin’ dick, baby,” he exclaims through clenched teeth. 

I can’t help how turned on I am by his rough treatment and I feel my arousal dampening my bare thighs. After several minutes, Negan slows his movements, allowing me to take control. I swirl my tongue determinedly around the head of his dick as I wrap my messy hands around the base. The mixture of frosting and Negan’s essence is an oddly satisfying combination of sweet and salty. Just as I’m really getting into it, Negan grips my jaw and pulls me away from his hot, hard length. 

“Have you had enough?” he asks raspily. 

_No_ , I muse, _I’ll never have enough_ , though I nod my head in affirmation, knowing that it’s the only answer that’s going to get me closer to a much needed orgasm. Dropping to a crouched position in front of me, Negan threads his arms around my body and hurriedly swings me around to lower me to the ground. He presses his lips to mine in a feverish and needy kiss, his tongue occasionally slipping into my warm mouth. I can feel the creamy frosting on both our faces smearing as we attack each other’s mouths, the remaining confection mixing with our wet kisses. 

Too invested in our fierce make-out session, I don’t register the sound of clicking nails tearing across the tile floor from across the room; not until the noise grows incredibly close do I pay it any mind. By the time I realize what the racket is, I feel a strange sensation against my cheek. I immediately tear my eyes open at the same time Negan does to find Ziggy shoving his snout between our faces to lap at the sweet icing covering our skin. With an astounded laugh, Negan bends his arms and pitches sideways to land on his back, coming to rest at my side. We lie together on the ground, our clothes a disheveled mess; both painfully aroused and unsatisfied thanks to the interruption. We do our best to fend off Ziggy’s attacking tongue, causing us to break into a fit of laughter at the absurdity of the situation. 

“We shoulda named him Little Cockblocker,” Negan laments just as Ziggy pounces on his bare chest with heavy, over-sized paws. 

Negan tries to yell at Ziggy to scare him off, but he can’t seem to get a single word out among the deep giggles spilling from his mouth. He falls victim to a severe tongue lashing before finally managing to roll the frenzied puppy to the ground, pinning him down and rubbing his belly vigorously. 

Sliding my clothes back over my bare body, I resign myself to waiting until later to finish this. I watch happily as my husband plays with our perpetually hyper puppy, showering him in attention and endearing words. I’m overcome with euphoria at the adorable and joyous picture; I finally have my own little family. For once the tightness in my chest isn’t due to fear or anxiety, but rather adoration for the giggling, glowing man in front of me.


	57. Crime Don't Pay

Leaning at an odd angle, I lay my hand atop the coarse felt of the pool table as I try to line up my first shot after Negan’s break from the head string. The billiard table was a gift from Tommy, and Negan had somehow convinced me to join him for a round or two. Of course, the odds of the game are clearly not in my favor as I’ve never played and Negan has, his experience giving him an unfair advantage. From the corner of my eye, I can see Negan standing at the other side of the table, dressed in a casual and disheveled suit with his tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck. He’s watching me closely with a smirk as I press my tongue to the corner of my mouth in concentration.

Drawing the cue stick back, I snap it forward and make contact with the shiny cue ball. A sharp crack sounds as the white ball makes impact with several of the colorful balls scattered across the table. I watch with frustration as the balls merely spin and roll, none of them slipping into any of the 6 pockets surrounding the table. Negan steps up to the table then, lining his cue up and executing a perfect shot that pockets the maroon 7 ball. 

“I’m solid…s,” he announces, dragging out the pluralization of the word for the sake of his lewd joke. 

Rolling my eyes slightly, I brace my hand on the table as I close my finger around the tip of the cue, sliding it back and forth as I adjust my aim. When I feel confident that this shot will end well, I pump my arm forward. I groan in defeat when the tip of my cue just barely swipes the cue ball, sending it in a whirling path across an empty section of the table. 

“Ugh, I’m _terrible_ ,” I lament, dropping my cue stick along the raised lip of the table in a sign of surrender. 

“No, nope, you’re not quittin’ on me,” Negan chides as he strides around the table, headed directly for me. “C'mon sweetheart, I know how much you love playin’ with my balls,” he cajoles. 

I fold my arms across my chest, defiant and childish. Negan props his cue stick against the edge of the table before picking mine up and handing it back to me. For a moment, I don’t acknowledge him, but I finally give in and snatch the long piece of wood from his hands. Placing himself behind my back, Negan takes my wrist in his grip, sliding my hands along the smooth wood until I have the proper form. 

“Your first problem is you’re holdin’ the butt way too low,” he instructs as he moves my hand higher up the stick. I jump in his arms when he reaches down to grab a handful of my ass with a breathy chuckle. 

With my hands in place, Negan tells me to take another shot. I struggle to focus on the action with him pressed so closely behind me and my distraction is evident in my less than mediocre stroke. When Negan tries to correct me, I look over my shoulder and hiss at him to back off and stop being a hindrance to my concentration. He takes several steps away from me, breaking our connection and leaving me to make another attempt at a poor shot. I don’t disappoint as the cue ball lightly taps the side of a solid yellow ball, unintentionally knocking one of Negan’s balls into the pocket. 

“Damn girl, you really do suck at this,” he observes as he rubs a hand against his scruffy chin. 

“Insult me again and sucking is gonna be the last thing I do,” I threaten as I turn on him with a sour look on my face. 

Deciding to continue a game with almost no competition whatsoever, Negan successfully pockets nearly every other ball on the table before I manage to get the hang of it. I finally begin to pocket my own striped balls, sticking my tongue out at Negan once I’ve caught up to him. 

“You best put that tongue back in your mouth before I make better use of it,” he growls from directly beside me. I squeak in surprise when Negan turns my back to the table and presses his hips against me to pin me in place. 

“Uh uh, you strong-armed me into playing this damn game and now we’re gonna finish,” I warn, uselessly pushing against his strong body. 

“Oh don’t worry, I’m _definitely_ gonna finish, baby,” he mutters lasciviously with a glance down at his rapidly hardening crotch. 

“You’re impossible, Negan,” I gasp, my annoyance quickly turning into excitement as he grinds the evidence of his arousal against me. 

Negan grasps the backs of my thighs, easily lifting me and plopping me down on the felt surface of the table. Threading his fingers through the hair on the back of my head, he pulls me into a forceful kiss. I reciprocate his enthusiasm, nipping sharply at his lower lip and prompting a low groan from him. Negan attacks my mouth, dropping his hands to the hem of my blouse and starting to yank it up and over my stomach. Remembering where we are and seeing where this is going, I pull my head back, separating our lips with a wet pop. 

“I don’t think Tommy would appreciate us ruining his gift,” I huff, begrudgingly interrupting Negan’s venturing hands. 

“Don’t care,” he counters, immediately pressing his insistent lips to my jaw and sucking along the length of my neck. 

“Hey, have you talked to Tommy lately?” I intone, knowing the second mention of Tommy is a sure mood killer. My suspicions are confirmed when Negan lets out a frustrated sigh and presses his warm forehead against my own. 

“ _What_?” Negan snaps in irritation. 

“Tommy…have you spoken with him?” I reiterate. While my intentions for bringing up Negan’s cousin had been to halt his heated attentions, I really do want to talk to him about this. 

“No, why?” he gruffs as he takes a step back to look at me. “Are you two in cahoots or somethin’?” 

“Kind of. We’re trying to help you, Negan,” I placate when I see him squint his eyes suspiciously. “We need to figure how to work things out so everything can settle down and you can get back to being the big, bad wolf.” I nearly regret my playful words when I watch Negan’s face fall; I know this is a conversation he has no interest in participating in. 

“What are you talkin’ about? I’m leavin’ the life. It’s what we both want, remember?” he retorts in confusion. 

I kick my dangling feet nervously before responding. “You’ll never get out. Not all the way. It’s impossible.” I raise my eyes to Negan’s, the challenge clear in my gaze. 

“No. I’m leavin’, Isabella. This isn’t a fuckin’ negotiation,” he snarls as he turns to walk away. 

Before he can move from within my reach, I extend a hand to grip his muscular arm in a tight hold. The feeling of my fingers wrapped around his elbow gets his attention and he reluctantly spins back around to face me. Trailing my hand along his forearm, I flip his arm around to take his hand in mine and pull him back between my thighs. 

“Be realistic,” I whisper in a soft tone, hoping to calm his building anger. “It’s just not gonna happen. I have an idea though.” 

At my proffered solution, Negan’s tense body relaxes slightly. He places his free hand atop my thigh before releasing a sigh of exasperation and urging me to let him in on my plan. 

“You can keep up with the mob and the lifestyle, but you don’t have to be a criminal to do it. Everything stays the same business-wise, but we don’t have to be monsters,” I assert. “All we need is a legitimate way to launder all the money you make. Tommy had a great suggestion. We start our own business. More specifically, a hotel.” 

“A _hotel_?” Negan questions. 

“On the beach. Something expensive. We’re in the perfect place for tourists,” I point out with a wide smile. 

Negan’s face shows almost no reaction as he stares at me and considers my words. I sit through a long minute of silence, awaiting any sort of response from him. I find myself hoping that he makes some effort to be open and receptive to the plan Tommy and I have devised. 

“Listen, Izzie,” he begins in a tired voice. “I appreciate your help and suggestions, but there’s no way it’s gonna work out. I’ll never be able to keep my position with the mafia without any protection, so none of this even matters. The Families are all out for my blood and I’m a sitting duck without them protecting me. I’m fucked if I stay,” he assures me. 

Upon hearing that the blood thirsty head families are the reason Negan no longer wants to remain in the lifestyle in which we belong, my face twists in anger. Hopping from the table, I stand toe to toe with Negan, bracing my hands against his chest. I regard him with a serious look, glaring up at him from my inconsequential height. 

“ _Fuck_ the Five Families,” I bite out violently. “We’ll take out anyone stupid enough to threaten or attack you until we don’t _need_ protection.” 

Negan looks upon me with shock; his eyebrows raised and his lips parted in disbelief of my acrimonious tone. He’s clearly taken aback by my behavior and my newly acquired fiery need for violence and vengeance. 

“We have to get them before they get us, Negan,” I insist before he can respond to my venomous words. “You have to show them who’s boss.” 

Negan’s face changes instantaneously at that, his eyes burning and the corners of his mouth quirking up in a lecherous smirk. Even after all this time, it still surprises me how quickly his moods can change. 

“I’ll fuckin’ show you who’s boss,” he purrs, his voice deep and rough. 

A shiver runs through my body at his words and the spark of arousal I feel prompts me to squeeze my legs shut. When Negan places his hand against my stomach and forces me to take several steps backwards, my face flushes warmly in anticipation. “Try me, old man,” I tease impishly, daring to take a dig at Negan’s seniority.


	58. Winners And Losers

I exhale heavily at the look that sweeps over Negan’s face upon hearing my brave and mischievous slight. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely angry, but the passionate fire burning behind his eyes promises all manners of things to come.

“C'mere, _princess_ ,” he taunts with a sinister voice as he invades my personal space. With the hand braced against my abdomen, he pushes roughly, shoving me back onto the pool table. 

I tumble clumsily over the edge, sprawling across the hard surface and knocking several of the balls with my hands as I balance myself. The sharp corner of the table’s edge digs into the backs of my thighs as Negan presses his body against my knees. I gasp in surprise when his hand shoots out to wrap my hair around his fist. 

“You just live to piss me off, don’t you?” he prompts snidely, his voice lacking any amount of amusement. “We’ll see how sassy you are when you’re cummin’ too hard to speak.” 

Playing along with Negan’s game, I allow a shadow of fear to overtake my face. Looking up at him with the most innocent expression I can manage, my already shaky breaths kick up a notch. He moves the hand fisted through my thick hair, dragging his fingers down my neck before encircling them loosely around my throat. 

“Don’t move unless I tell you to,” he breathes with a whisper. “Understand?” 

“Yes,” I huff, barely making a sound. 

Negan presses even closer, tightening the hand enclosing my delicate throat as he leans toward my face. “Yes, _what_?” he growls. 

“Yes, Daddy,” I respond meekly, immediately catching on to what Negan wants. 

Instantly, he tilts my chin upward, latching his lips onto mine briefly before nipping at the tender flesh. I return the favor, biting Negan’s lip with more enthusiasm than I’d intended. He uses his grip on my throat to shove me away from him, far enough that he can observe me. He swipes his tongue over the small drop of blood oozing from his lip, staring down at me with a menacing look on his face. 

“Bad girl,” he whispers, more to himself than anything else. He applies an almost imperceptible amount more pressure to my neck before releasing me entirely. 

With both hands now free, Negan reaches for the waistband of my jeans. Moving with forceful and jerky motions, he snaps open the button and yanks the zipper all the way down. Fisting the rough material in his hands, he pulls my jeans down only a few inches before they get trapped beneath my weight. Negan gives a few harsh tugs, but fails to move my pants any further. 

“Lift your hips,” he demands, his impatience obvious in his snappish tone. 

I lean back on my elbows, bracing my weight as I lift my ass off the table. Negan pulls against the denim again, finally managing to bring the bunched material down to my slightly parted thighs. I lower myself back down to the surface of the pool table and close my legs to allow Negan to remove my pants more easily. He quickly drags my jeans down to my ankles before slipping my shoes off and leaving my bottom half bare, save for a pair of plain black panties. 

I watch Negan’s gaze grow even more fiery and excited as he takes in my state of disarray – half undressed and panting already. He slides his rough palms from my knees up the tops of my thighs, his knuckles brushing along my sensitive stomach when he tucks his fingers under the waistband of my underwear. I squirm restlessly, pulling my body away from the tickling sensation caused by the unintentional touch from his hands. Every muscle in my body clenches, locking up at the tempestuous irritation swirling in the glare Negan levels on me. 

“I thought I told you not to move,” he reminds me angrily. 

I look up at him from beneath my lashes, trying my best to appear repentant for my reaction. When I realize I’m laying it on far too thickly, I barely suppress the giggle rising in my throat. Unfortunately, I’m not quick enough to stop the smile that flits across my lips. I gnash my teeth into my lower lip, hoping to hide my amused reaction, but I can tell Negan has already seen it. 

Tilting his head in disbelief and something resembling shock, Negan promptly wrenches my panties away from my body before releasing them and letting the elastic snap sharply against my hips. I let out a short yelp at the stinging sensation as Negan gives me a chilling, humorless smile. When he reaches for my underwear again, I grip his wrists defensively, stopping him from repeating his previous trick. The moment my fingers touch his warm skin, I realize my mistake. Negan moves with incredible speed, rotating his palms and reversing our hands so he has my thinner wrists trapped in his clutches. 

“You fuckin’ kiddin’ me, Izzie?” he implores peevishly. I shift my arms a tiny bit in an attempt to free them, which causes Negan to slam my hands at my sides, cracking my knuckles against the pool table. “Are you fuckin’ deaf?” he hisses. 

Shaking my head lightly in denial, I swing my feet aimlessly between Negan’s legs, acting as if I’ve done nothing wrong. My oblivious and innocent behavior seems to finally push Negan to the breaking point. He releases my wrists and returns his hands to my underwear, pulling against them much the way he had with my jeans. However, this time when the stretchy material is caught beneath me, he doesn’t bother enlisting my assistance in removing the garment, he merely jerks the spandex with so much force that I hear it tear before he can yank it down my legs. 

Before I have a chance to prepare myself, Negan has my thighs pried apart and drops his hand to land a heavy slap directly between my legs. I jump hard in surprise, gasping at the biting pain the impact creates against my flesh. The second time Negan slaps my damp folds, I see it coming, though that doesn’t make it any less unpleasant. A whining moan escapes my throat when Negan hits me again, and the sound causes his wrathful expression to soften just a little. 

“If you continue to disobey me, I’m gonna do it again,” Negan threatens. “Are you gonna listen to me now? Can you do that for Daddy?” 

I immediately agree, nodding my head animatedly. Pleased with my compliance, Negan reaches between my legs and massages with soothing gentleness. I curl my fingers over the lip of the pool table, holding on and willing myself not to move without Negan’s permission. 

“Good girl,” he whispers in approval, intensifying his touch. 

I shut my eyes and try to calm my breathing, unable to focus on anything but the pleasure building in my core. My arms begin to shake with tension as I fight against the desire to reach out and touch Negan or even grind my hips against his hand. When Negan’s fingers slip past my entrance and pump in and out of my body, a shudder ripples down the length of my body; my thighs quivering when he applies constant, swirling pressure against my clit. My eyes flick open as Negan pulls his touch away, dragging his fingers along my inner thigh and leaving behind a wet trail. 

I glance up at his face and he gives me a soft, crooked smirk as he reaches for the hem of my shirt again, this time I let him lift it up and over my head. He skillfully unhooks my bra and removes it before he grabs my hips and pushes me closer to the center of the pool table. Once he has me where he wants me, Negan lifts my legs just behind my knees, prompting me to lie back against the table as he pushes my thighs up to my chest. Being totally exposed to him, I feel overly naked and vulnerable, even more so when I remember that he’s still fully clothed. 

That thought quickly leaves my mind when I feel Negan’s hot breath fanning over my dripping folds. Unable to see him, I’m surprised when his lips make contact with my throbbing flesh. I cry out and Negan pushes harder against my folded body, tilting my hips just a bit more. He continues his oral assault for only a minute longer before growing bored of how my closed thighs limit him. He drops my legs and spreads them wide, nearly pressing my knees to the table at a painfully uncomfortable angle. 

I know Negan is teasing me in the hopes of making me disobey him again by the way he drifts his fingertips lightly over my skin. He starts at my inner thighs, ghosting his touch along the soft skin up to where my leg meets my hip. I groan in frustration when he purposely neglects to touch me where he knows I want him to. I lift my hips only a fraction of an inch before I gather all my self control to halt the motion. Looking up at Negan, I can tell he senses my struggle and I plead with him silently to end my suffering. 

Bending at the waist, Negan lowers himself directly above my center, not taking his eyes off mine for a second. Sliding his palms down my thighs, he presses his thumbs to my lips and slowly spreads them before inching closer to press his mouth against the pulsating flesh. Without warning, his tongue sneaks from between his lips to glide smoothly along my folds. He licks thoroughly from my entrance to my clit several times before he takes the sensitive bundle of nerves between his lips. I arch my back as Negan sucks lightly, quickly drawing near my speeding climax. Just as I’m about to burst, Negan pulls away, leaving me high but far from dry. I whine pitifully as I glare at him with disdain and anger flashing in my eyes. 

“What’s the matter, baby?” he prompts, feigning ignorance. “What do you want?” 

Tossing my head back to rest against the table, I release an annoyed sigh before speaking. “Negan, please,” I beg. 

“Please what?” he prods teasingly. “Do you want Daddy to eat that pretty pussy?” 

My breath catches in my throat as Negan’s filthy words create a warm puff of air against my drenched core. I can’t help the subtle squirming of my hips as Negan awaits my reply. 

“Don’t make me ask again,” he barks. “Answer me.” 

The tone of his voice paired with another stimulating burst of heat across my already high-strung body sends my arousal through the roof. Unable to form words, I merely moan desperately, the sound vibrating through my heaving chest. Letting my body’s needs get the better of me, I completely forget Negan’s earlier commands not to move. Wanting him to continue his ministrations, I stupidly raise my arms and grip his dark hair in my fingers to urge him on. As soon my hands make contact, a frightening sound escapes Negan – a deep thundering groan that starts out as words but quickly transforms into an unintelligible roar. 

As promised, Negan brings his hand up to repeatedly slap my soaked pussy; the assault against my now swollen clit is even more painful than before. The room is filled with the sounds of wet smacks as well as my wretched whimpers and screams as I apologize profusely and beg Negan not to punish me. 

After several more agonizing slaps, Negan finally stops, though my punishment doesn’t end there. In a flash, Negan has removed his loose tie from around his neck as he gathers my wrists in his free hand. Before I can even think about fighting him, Negan has bound my hands together with the silken material, yanking my arms to get my attention. 

“If you fuckin’ move again, I will make absolutely sure you regret it,” he warns coldly as he shoves my arms up and over my head, pressing against them firmly in a silent command to leave my hands there. 

Negan hastily moves back between my thighs and my sigh of relief quickly turns to a groan of pleasure as he returns his tongue to my folds and laps hungrily at my wetness. A plethora of frantic screams escape me as Negan devours me, pinning my writhing hips with his strong forearm as he eats me out like a man starved. I tilt my head to the side and bury my face against my upper arm, trying to muffle my guttural moans, but Negan doesn’t allow that for very long. 

“Don’t hold back, baby,” he instructs as he stands up to hover above me. He grips my jaw tightly and pulls my mouth away from my arm, forcing me to look up at him. “Let me fuckin’ hear you.” 

I scream sharply when Negan thrusts three long fingers deep into my slick hole, ramming them into me with jarring force. With his free hand, he takes my throat in a tight grip, pressing his entire forearm between my breasts as he leans most of his weight over top of me. He gradually limits the amount of oxygen I can gather with my frenzied gasps while leaning his stubbled cheek against mine to snarl in my ear. 

“Who’s the fuckin’ boss?” he questions, his words instantaneously making me remember how I’d gotten myself in this situation in the first place. 

I don’t respond right away, unable to think clearly enough to form words, but when Negan increases the pressure around my neck, I know he expects an answer. 

“You are, Daddy,” I choke, tears rolling from my eyes at the exquisite torture Negan is inflicting on my body. 

“Fuckin’ right I am,” Negan hisses. My gruffly spoken words are like gasoline to a fire, provoking Negan to plunge his fingers even faster and harder into my body. The movement causes my body to inch across the table, the felt surface scraping lightly against my bare skin. Before long, an intense orgasm rips through me, eliciting a loud screech as my entire body clenches and vibrates. 

Negan slips his soaked fingers from amid my thighs and licks them clean before dragging my limp form to the edge of the table. I let out a shocked squeal of protest as he hauls me into his arms and lifts me over his shoulder. My head and bound wrists dangle along his back as he holds my thighs against his chest and heads for the stairs. 

Reaching the bedroom, Negan swings me around and flops me onto the plush mattress. I watch him for only a short moment before he starts grabbing my limbs and situating me on my knees in the center of the bed. He instructs me to hold on to one of the metal bars of the headboard as he digs around in a drawer for another tie which he uses to tether my bound wrists to the headboard. 

My thighs quiver in anticipation while I listen to the sound of Negan’s clothes dropping to the floor. I pull gently against my binds, the realization of how well restrained I am makes me swivel my hips with need. With my forehead pressed to the mattress, the stinging slap across my ass takes me off guard. I groan feebly when Negan sweeps his fingers up the back of my thigh and through my sodden folds. He slaps my ass again and begins rubbing my clit with barely enough friction. 

“Please, Negan,” I plead breathily, pushing back against his drifting fingers. “Make me cum.” 

Negan teases me for several long minutes, drawing out his sweet torture until I’m sweating, shaking, and close to tears. I drop any semblance of dignity or propriety as I beg Negan repeatedly for release, nearly yelling at him to give me any form of relief. 

Cutting me off midway through a particularly desperate plea, Negan slams his length deep within me, sheathing himself entirely in my tight channel. I gyrate my hips, my entire body moving fluidly as I grind back against him and slide my wetness along his dick. Negan wastes no time settling into a rough, pounding rhythm, seemingly taking his frustrations out on my willing body. When he pops his fingers into his mouth to wet them and reaches beneath me to circle my clit vigorously, I use my secured wrists to inch my body away from the painfully intense sensation. Negan swiftly grabs my hips, dragging me back down the mattress and pressing his hips firmly against my ass. 

“Stay right where you are, babygirl,” he warns, refusing to let me move away from his thrusting hips. 

With his dexterous fingers working over the sensitive bundle of nerves and his thick cock stroking deliciously within me, it doesn’t take long for me to cum. I grind my teeth and moan loudly as my whole body tenses up and my core squeezes strongly around Negan. He stops moving momentarily, letting me ride out my orgasm before he resumes the rapid pace of his hips. Negan clutches one hand firmly against my hip and places his other palm against my stomach, holding me still as his throbbing dick twitches and he spills a copious amount of cum inside me. 

I pant heavily at the hot, wet fullness in my core, rutting back against Negan as the forceful spurts of his release finally cease. He slides his softening length from my sore pussy as he braces his arms on either side of me and leans his sweaty chest along my back. His heavy breaths blow puffs of humid air onto the back of my neck while he releases my wrists from their silk prison. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, leaning over my shoulder to plant a sloppy kiss at the corner of my mouth. 

I sway faintly, trying to keep my balance on my knees when Negan wedges his hand under my arm to flip me roughly onto my back. He rapidly slides down my body, bracing himself above my legs as he gently licks along my damp thighs. My heart rate picks up as he drags his lips along the sensitive skin, making his way back toward my center. A gasp catches in my throat when Negan presses his mouth to my swollen, messy folds and the soft touch on my sensitive nerves makes my entire body twitch uncontrollably. His contact with the dripping flesh coats his lips in a thin layer of our combined juices, the filthy sight causing me to clench my thighs together. He crawls over me, hovering just above me with our lips nearly touching. 

“Give Daddy a kiss,” he coerces with a sly smirk as he drags his thumb along my lower lip. 

I raise my head the few inches to crash my mouth to Negan’s, darting my tongue out to taste the salty moisture upon his lips. Negan grabs the back of my head, pulling me towards him and deepening our passionate kiss before releasing me to flop back onto the mattress. He drops his exhausted body on top of me, practically crushing me with his massive weight. I skim my fingertips lightly over the thick muscles of Negan’s back, evoking a deeply satisfied sigh from him. 

“Not too bad for an old guy, huh?” he prods, his lips tickling me as he speaks into the skin of my chest. His comment reminds me of my previous taunting and it triggers a tired chuckle from the both of us. 

“I hope you didn’t waste all your energy, because we’re still gonna finish that pool game,” I tease. 

Negan groans dramatically in a show of disagreement, but I’m determined to kick his ass and win the game now that he’s totally worn out. After a few minutes, I manage to edge my way out from under Negan’s heavy form. Perched on the end of the bed, I turn around to slap Negan’s ass playfully, poking at him in an attempt to get him up. 

We dress in minimal amounts of clothing once Negan pries himself out of the bed, plodding back down to the billiard table. Taking our respective cue sticks in hand, I cede the first move to Negan. He observes the table carefully, lining up a perfect shot and pocketing the last solid colored ball on the table before setting his sights on the black 8-ball that will end the game in his favor. 

“8-ball, corner pocket,” he calls out, announcing what he expects to be a game-winning stroke. 

A loud crack echoes through the room when Negan takes his shot and the cue ball smashes into the 8-ball. Much to my delight, the impact of the balls causes the 8-ball to ricochet off the far wall of the table and it merely rolls past the very edge of the pocket. With a grin on my face, I step up to take my own shot. In a swift maneuver, I also pocket the last of my striped balls. Instead of calling my shot in the required manner, I decide to fuck with Negan’s ego. 

“ _Your_ balls, _my_ pocket,” I tease smugly. 

Negan tosses a dirty look my way, knowing that though I started off poorly, I’m about to steal the game right out from under him. I bend over and line up my cue carefully, taking a forceful shot and smashing the black ball straight into the closest side pocket. Straightening up, I prop my hand on my hip with a victorious smile splitting my face. 

“Better luck next time, buddy,” I placate sarcastically, pointing a finger gun in Negan’s direction with a wink and a cheeky clicking of my tongue.


	59. Coming For You

The tension enveloping the room is physically suffocating as Negan and I stare unflinchingly at one another. I stand with my spine stiffened in frustration and my arms crossed defensively while Negan appears cool and collected; seated across from me at his desk, one elbow propped on the arm of the chair and his hand cradling his chin.

“Why _not_?” I snap. “Why can’t I help?” 

“You’re not gettin’ involved in this shit again. I’m not lettin’ you get hurt, doll,” he explains. 

I curl my lip angrily at Negan’s calm and uninterested tone, annoyed that he isn’t as worked up as I am. 

“You’re gonna need me. Even with Tommy, you guys can’t do this alone,” I offer, referencing the matter we’ve been discussing. 

Between the three of us, we’ve decided that before Negan can even consider delving into legitimate business, there are some very serious obstacles that need tending to. Those obstacles coming in the form of the Five Families of the mob and their apparent vendetta against my husband. With them still biting at our heels, there’s no way we can do anything until this issue is resolved. Though my push towards a less brutal lifestyle had been at least partially accepted, Negan insists on exacting his revenge for the hit that had been put out on him. He’s going to kill the heads of the Families. 

“No,” he utters dismissively, shuffling through some documents on his desk and effectively ignoring me as I continue to stand in the center of the office. 

“Tommy has a good plan, Negan…I’ll be fine,” I whine, hoping my desperation will make him give in. 

“Izzie, I said no,” he intones, anger seeping into his words as he raises his eyes to mine. “Drop. It.” 

“Okay, but I just–.” 

“That’s _enough_ ,” he barks, cutting me off before I have a chance to further plead my case. 

I snap my mouth shut, clenching my teeth to suppress the snotty retort I want to fire in Negan’s direction. Instead, I glare at him with a wrathful expression, conveying my thoughts wordlessly. Not wanting to start a fight or land myself in trouble, I roll my eyes and march testily out of the room. 

I stomp my way down the hall and into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of beer from the fridge and slinking outside until I can calm down. Leaning against the railing of the deck, I take several large gulps of the chilly beverage. The alcohol works quickly to soothe my rage and mend my wounded ego, though I’m still feeling bitter towards Negan and his unbearable stubbornness. Just as the thought of him crosses my mind, the sound of the glass door sliding open behind me reaches my ears. I stand up straight, bracing myself as I’m not quite ready to deal with Negan so soon after storming out of his office. 

“Hey, kid,” an unexpected voice calls from over my shoulder. 

I spin quickly to find Tommy poking his head through the open door, regarding me with a small smile. Still feeling cranky and unsociable, I merely acknowledge his presence with a slight nod before turning back around to nurse my now lukewarm beer. I cringe slightly when I hear footsteps treading across the deck, rapidly approaching from behind. 

“What’s up, Izzie?” Tommy wonders, concern crystal clear in his voice. 

I tilt my head toward the taller man, regarding his worried features for a moment before I turn away. Blowing a heavy sigh out my nose, I swallow the foamy dregs in the bottom of the bottle dangling from my fingers. 

“Negan’s being a little shit,” I admit. “Won’t let me in on your little adventure. Guess I’m not good enough to run with the big dogs,” I snap bitterly. 

Tommy throws an arm over my shoulders, pulling me closer as he smirks down at me. “Oh c'mon. You know he’s just worried about you getting hurt, or worse.” 

I sigh again, taking in Tommy’s words. I know he’s right, but that doesn’t make Negan’s refusal any less irritating. I can’t stand that he’s trying to shut me out and treat me like I’m made of glass. Rationally, Negan’s rejection is perfectly reasonable, much as my hurt pride doesn’t want me to see it that way. 

“I got some information for your old man, you’re probably gonna wanna hear it too,” Tommy states, pulling me back towards the house. Sensing my hesitation, it doesn’t take Tommy long to realize why. “Just because you can’t participate doesn’t mean you can’t listen. He can at least give you that much.” 

Shrugging my shoulders, I follow Tommy inside, doubting that Negan is going to share in his compromising view of the situation. Tommy announces himself loudly as we stroll down the hallway together, stopping momentarily in the doorway of the office. Negan remains exactly where I left him, sitting at his desk, staring distantly at an empty wall. 

Negan observes us silently before motioning us into the room to sit in either of the chairs opposite him at the desk. Tommy pulls a chair out for me, then perches himself beside me. He clears his throat, clearly feeling the linger tension between myself and Negan. 

“So I did some research…” Tommy begins. As soon as Tommy opens his mouth, Negan shifts his eyes over to me. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want me here for this and is about to say so when Tommy stops him. “Let her stay, she deserves to know what’s going on.” 

Negan quirks an eyebrow curiously, none too satisfied with Tommy taking my side. I reach over and squeeze Tommy’s arm gently in gratitude. I school my features into a blank expression, not wanting to appear too cocky or pleased with getting my way. 

“Alright, so I talked to some guys and confirmed that Lucky sent Richie after you. But that move had to be approved by all the families, which means they all want you taken care of, Cuz,” Tommy continues. “If you wanna make your move, it’s gonna have to be now. Don’t give them time to figure out that you know what they’re doing.” 

“How do we wanna handle this?” Negan asks, finally speaking. 

“Quick and clean,” Tommy responds shortly. “They won’t even see it coming.” 

“When?” Negan inquires. 

“This weekend,” Tommy slides to the edge of his seat, propping his elbows on his knees, his excitement palpable. “There’s a meeting going down at Lucky’s place and they’ll all be there. That’s our best shot.” 

“Five birds with one stone,” Negan murmurs to himself, revealing his agreement with Tommy’s plan. 

“Precisely. All we gotta do is figure out a way to get in and bypass the security. Best bet is to use a decoy, send in someone the families won’t recognize,” Tommy explains. 

“How do we get ‘em in? They aren’t just gonna let any Joe Schmo off the streets into a house full of mafiosos,” Negan counters. 

“That’s where our plan has a little hitch in the giddyap,” Tommy admits. “I’m thinking we send in some kind of worker…plumber, electrician, what have you. By the time anyone realizes he ain’t supposed to be there, it’s too late. We just gotta find the right guy for the job.” 

Negan nods his head slowly while chewing on his lower lip. He doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but he knows given the limited time and resources we have, our options are extremely limited. Considering Negan’s words, I wonder how I can convince them to include me in this plan. _What better decoy to plant than a damsel in distress?_ I decide to keep my idea to myself, resigning myself to wait for Tommy to leave before bringing it up; no need to put him in Negan’s crosshairs when my suggestion turns into an inevitable fight. 

“That’s what I’ve got,” Tommy announces, throwing his arms out wide as he leans back in his seat. “I’m open to ideas or any changes you wanna make.” He glances at me for a moment when he says that, though I keep my mouth shut. 

“Nah, this works for me. You find the guy and then we’ll figure out the details,” Negan commands. 

“You got it, boss. We’re running outta time so I’m gonna get out of here and figure some shit out. I’ll call you once I have something for ya.” With that, Tommy says his goodbyes and exits the house. 

I shift in my seat, raising my eyes from my lap to Negan’s face. Our gazes connect and we stare in silence for several moments. Neither one of us is entirely happy with the situation, but don’t bother mentioning that fact. Unable to hide my dissatisfaction, I raise my eyes in question at Negan. 

“What?” he asks with a sigh. 

“Nothing,” I lie, shaking my head gently. “You think this is gonna work?” 

“It’s the only option we’ve got,” Negan responds, not answering my question. 

I rise to my feet, answering with only a low hum before heading towards the door. I hear Negan mumble something under his breath, though I don’t turn back around to find out what it is. I meander back into the kitchen, gathering some food to begin cooking dinner. I dig around for a while before deciding on something quick and easy I can throw together. 

Among the various pots boiling and sizzling on the stove, I barely register the sound of the ringing phone. I remove the cooked food from the heat so it doesn’t burn, trying my best to listen down the hall to Negan’s office. Unable to hear anything, I tiptoe silently in the direction of the room. I perch just outside the doorway until I’m sure it’s Tommy on the other end of the line, already prepared with the name of the guy that’s going to be working with us. Tapping my knuckles lightly against the open door, I alert Negan to my presence. When he looks up, I step into the room and approach his desk. 

“Is that Tommy?” I ponder, during a lull in Negan’s side of the conversation. 

He nods in answer, observing me silently as I come around the desk and prop myself along the edge, my leg pressed just against his. Bending forward, I slide the receiver out of Negan’s hand and lay it gently on the desk. Without taking my eyes off of his, I reach behind me to press the speaker button on the phone. Instantly, the room is filled with the tinny sound of Tommy’s voice, mid-sentence. 

“…get him in there to cut the security feed and then we go in and do what we gotta do,” he finishes. 

Negan lets Tommy know that he’s on speaker and that I’m in the room before he responds to what he’s gathered from the end of Tommy’s sentence. He stares at me in annoyance as he speaks in a monotonous tone. 

“As long as he’s on board and can get the job done, set it up,” he intones. 

Seeing my window of opportunity, I decide to insert my foot directly into my mouth. I figure now is a good a time as any for my idea to get shot down, so I join the conversation. 

“You need something better,” I debate. “Sending some guy in to interfere with the security system and get you into the meeting is a good idea, except there’s no way he’s getting into that house and wandering around alone. He can’t do shit with a guard hovering around him while he works.” 

The room falls silent for a moment as both men consider my rebuttal. Negan leans back, rubbing his chin in contemplation when Tommy’s voice sounds over the line. 

“She might be right, Negan,” Tommy mutters in a low voice. “We’re gonna need a decoy _and_ a distraction from our decoy.” 

“I’ll do it,” I offer without thinking. 

“Don’t fuckin’ start, Izzie,” Negan growls, his mood instantly hostile. “We’re not talkin’ about this again so get it out of your fuckin’ head.” 

I cut Tommy off before he can get more than a few words out to agree or disagree with Negan. “No, hear me out,” I placate, looking at Negan pleadingly when he opens his mouth to argue right away. “You send us both in. Use me as a distraction and let this guy disarm the security while I’m doing whatever. And once the security is down, you two come in and crash their little meeting.” 

“Not that I’m even _considering_ this ridiculous notion, but you’d never be able to get in,” Negan bites. “Lucky knows who you are, your cover is blown the second you walk in the door. He’s gonna know something is up when the wife of the guy he tried to kill shows up on his doorstep.” 

“Okay, so I play the victim,” I offer. “Your wife shows up battered and distressed, desperate for help. So desperate that she’s willing to turn you over to the one man who wants you dead, just to protect herself.” 

Negan glares at me, his jaw ticking rapidly in anger, but he doesn’t speak. The plan is admittedly a risky one, especially considering how roughshod it is, being thrown together so hastily. However, there’s few other choices to follow through successfully with what we have to do. I know that, and based on the enraged look coloring Negan’s face, I assume he probably knows as well, though he’s loathe to accept it. 

“You’ve sure given this a lot of thought,” Tommy pipes up. “I dunno man, I think it could work,” he states hesitantly, now speaking to Negan. 

“Absolutely not. How do we know you don’t go in there and get yourself killed? You’re _not_ takin’ that fuckin’ chance,” Negan snaps, the volume of his voice increasing with every word. 

Adopting a soothing voice, I try to reason with Negan. “You said Lucky would know something is up, so we use that to our advantage,” I offer. “He isn’t going to jump right into killing me. If he thinks it’s a set up, he won’t risk hurting me and walking into a trap. At the very least, he’ll find out what I want first and that’s when we strike.” 

The look of rage that overcomes Negan’s face is intimidating. I hate that he’s so pissed at me, but I feel little sympathy towards his determination to refuse my help. I raise my eyebrows in question, prompting him to give me an answer, though all I’m met with is a tightened jaw and a hard glare. I open my mouth to offer more words of encouragement, but Negan is having none of it. 

“ _No_ ,” he snarls. “Don’t fuckin’ ask again.” 

I drop my shoulders in defeat and huff dramatically, my petulant behavior furthers the anger in Negan’s stare. Not about to back down, I decide to employ a different strategy. Pushing away from the edge of the desk, I wedge myself between Negan’s thighs and drop to my knees. 

“C'mon, Negan… _please_ ,” I simper quietly, sliding my hands up his firm thighs and towards his hips. “I just want to help.” 

Tommy continues speaking, though neither of us are hearing his words as I slowly wrap my fingers around Negan’s belt buckle, pulling the end through the loop and loosening the strip of leather. I unfasten the button on his slacks before plunging my hand under the waistband of his boxers. Negan lets out a tiny groan and spreads his legs further as he leans back in his chair. 

Negan offers short, terse responses to whatever meaningless words Tommy proceeds to spew, his breath coming in quick bursts as I wrap my fingers around his stiffening length. Shifting my position, I brace my elbows on Negan’s thighs as I release his thick member. His responses to Tommy cease entirely as I take him in my hand and pump rhythmically. After several failed attempts to regain his attention, Negan promises to call Tommy back before swiftly ending the phone call. 

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Negan prompts, threading his long fingers through my hair. 

“Let’s make a deal,” I breathe with a smile, sticking my tongue out to lick from the base of his dick to the head. 

“I’m not gonna tell you again,” he growls. “You’re not–.” 

I stop him in the middle of his impassioned words as I wrap my lips around his cock, taking him deeply into my warm mouth. The hand in my hair tightens as Negan pushes my head down, pressing my nose against the course hair trailing along his abdomen. Breathing through my nose, I remain motionless, only my tongue moving to swirl around the bulging veins along the dick shoved down my throat. 

“That’s it, baby,” Negan moans, finally releasing me as I drag several large gulps of air into my lungs. 

I pump my hand vigorously before returning my mouth to his slicked length. I put all my energy into pleasuring him, rushing him towards his climax. When Negan groans long and deep and thrusts his hips upward, I pull away entirely, robbing him of any stimulation. He growls in frustration, clenching his hands on either arm of the chair, the wood creaking beneath his forceful grip. 

“If I can’t come, you can’t cum,” I threaten with false sweetness. The ravenous look in Negan’s eyes rapidly turns to one of wrath as he doesn’t take to kindly to my teasing. 

He sits above me, his mouth parted as he pants in need, his eyes desperate and daring me to follow through with my threat. I take great pleasure in knowing that I can bring Negan to this state and prey on his desire to get what I want. 

“Will you let me help?” I question, dragging a single finger along the twitching beast between his legs. 

Negan doesn’t react for a few seconds, but the moment I see him move an inch to shake his head in denial, I stop. With my hands braced against his knees, I push up from my kneeling position. I brush my hair from my face and wipe my moist lips across the back on my hand before turning away. A soft scuffle from over my shoulder precedes a firm grip threaded around my waist. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” Negan whispers coldly. I rotate my head, looking him up and down to take in his appearance; eyes darkened with arousal and rage, chest heaving, and pants hanging loosely around his hips with his erection exposed. 

I remain rooted to the spot, not speaking or moving until Negan opens his mouth again. “Get back on your fuckin’ knees.” 

“Are you gonna let me go with you?” I counter, all teasing and playfulness absent from my tone. Negan clenches his teeth and rolls his eyes before finally giving in. 

“Alright _fine_ , goddammit,” he roars, dropping back into the chair and dragging me down with him. 

Satisfied with getting what I want, I immediately take Negan back into my mouth. Using both my mouth and hands, I coat Negan’s dick in a generous layer of saliva, slurping sloppily along his length. It doesn’t take long for Negan to take my chin in his grasp, staring me down as he growls words of praise. 

“Atta girl,” he grates through tightly clenched teeth. “You love Daddy’s cock, don’t you, baby?” 

I moan enthusiastically in response, sucking more intently. I can feel Negan approaching his orgasm and I slide my mouth off of him, a thin string of saliva trailing from my lower lip to the head of his dick. Pumping both my hands with vigor, I stick my tongue out, a blatant invitation for Negan to cum in my mouth. He squirms restlessly, canting his hips and releasing a litany of deep moans before he explodes between my lips. I swallow every warm drop, removing my hands from his hardening cock to gather the strings of cum escaping the sides of my mouth and lick my fingers clean. 

With an air of victory, I rise to my feet, glancing at Negan’s slumped form in front of me. His legs are parted wide, his arms lying limply at his sides, and his head thrown back in exhaustion. Leaning over him, I capture his lips in a wet kiss. The feeling of my lips brings him back to reality and he takes my hand in his, placing a warm kiss against my knuckles. 

“What the hell am I gonna do with you?” he rasps, the fire gone from his eyes. 

"Thank me,“ I taunt, perching against the edge of the desk again. “You should call Tommy back so we can set this up.” The reminder of the agreement Negan had just gotten himself caught up in causes him to squint his eyes at me in warning. 

“If we do this, you do _exactly_ as I say, is that clear?” he demands seriously. “You do it my way or not at all.” 

I agree immediately, nodding my head animatedly, pleased with my efforts to convince Negan to see things my way. I give Negan one last peck on the lips before virtually skipping from the room to leave him to his work in setting up our covert mission with Tommy.


	60. Don't Fear The Reaper

Tommy, Negan, and I sit sprawled across the living room, various documents blanket nearly every surface around us. We’ve spent hours poring over the piles of information, from building blueprints of Lucky’s house to police records on the men working closest with the Five Families. Even with the limited time we have, we’re making sure to cover every base and structure our plan in the best way possible.

Utilizing the few remaining connections Tommy and Negan still have within the mafia, they’ve managed to gather several allies – people who’d previously been fucked over by the mob and who would like nothing more than to see these men taken down. They’ve used them as resources to compile any bit of information on the upcoming meeting – what, when, where, and who. With the acquired blueprints of Lucky’s mansion, we’ve mapped out the quickest route to the back room containing all the security equipment as well as the location of Lucky’s office and the room the meeting will most likely take place in. 

“So we send Frankie in and he’ll go to the back…here,” Tommy dictates, tapping his finger against the crinkled building plans and referencing the trusted friend he’s tasked with shutting down the security. “There’s gonna be a guard at the door, probably gonna escort Frankie in and be up his ass the whole time. This is where you come in, kid.” 

I flick my eyes from the blueprints to Tommy, nodding my head as he relays his plan to Negan and I. I pay close attention, not wanting to mess this up. 

“You come to the door and get Lucky’s watchdog away from Frankie. We don’t know how many guys are monitoring the security, but Frankie is going in armed so he’ll be able to take care of them.” 

“What do you need me to do?” I ponder, shifting to the edge of my seat as I listen intently. From the corner of my eye, I see Negan looking at me, but I don’t acknowledge him. 

“You gotta get to Lucky, get him alone and put the meeting on hold,” Tommy announces. 

“Okay. How do we do that? Are we gonna go with my plan?” 

“Seems like our best choice,” Tommy concedes, turning to Negan and seeking his approval. 

Negan sighs heavily, not answering for a moment. After several seconds, he rolls his eyes in surrender and nods his head, wordlessly accepting our plan of action. Stretching my arm toward Negan, I reach a hand over to rub his thigh gently. I know this isn’t easy for him and I want him to know that I appreciate him cooperating with us. 

“You do what you have to in order to convince Lucky that you need help…you need to talk to him. If everything goes to plan, you’ll get him alone in his office,” Tommy intones. 

“What about the guard?” I question. 

“He won’t stick around for you,” Tommy states confidently. “God forbid Lucky let anyone think he needs protecting from an innocent little girl.” 

I purse my lips at Tommy, lifting an eyebrow at his amused grin. “Very funny,” I murmur blandly. “Okay, so the guard is gone, I’m alone with Lucky…what’s next?” 

“You kill him,” Tommy states shortly. 

“Whoa, no,” Negan intervenes quickly. “She ain’t killin’ anyone.” 

“Then what’s your suggestion?” I counter, daring to challenge Negan. 

“ _I’m_ gonna kill him,” he asserts. 

“And how do you propose you get in the house to do that, Negan?” I snark, attitude seeping into my words. 

Negan regards me with a dark gaze of warning before retorting, “Frankie is gonna cut the security feed and I’ll sneak in through a window or some shit.” 

_Or some shit_ , I muse, snorting out a breathy chuckle at Negan’s words. I regard him with a questioning look, letting him know that I see right through his tough act and that his plan is useless. The annoyed expression on his face tells me he knows too, he’s just grasping at straws and trying to involve me as little as possible. 

“The second Lucky sees you it’s over,” I state. “He’s gotta be dead before you’re inside and you know it.” 

Negan’s frustration is palpable, he can’t stand that he has no control over the situation. He hates that I’m right and he’s wrong, that I need to be involved deeper than he’s comfortable with. 

“You good with that, Cuz?” Tommy questions. “We won’t do anything unless you OK it.” 

“Whatever,” Negan groans, begrudgingly giving me permission to kill Lucky. 

“Good. So Izzie…you kill Lucky and you let us know the second it’s done. We’ll come in and take care of the rest,” Tommy directs. 

“Take care of the rest how?” I dare to ask. 

“Heavy artillery, my dear,” Tommy grins. Shifting my eyes between the two men on either side of me, I see they have the same giddy look of excitement. _Boys and their toys_ , I think to myself, rolling my eyes at their childish joy. 

With our endeavor thoroughly plotted, we set up a time and place to meet up. We tie up any loose ends, making sure the we’re all on the same page. Tommy promises to get Frankie up to speed before announcing his departure. 

“I’ll see you kids tomorrow,” he calls over his shoulder as he exits the room. 

Instantly, I slide myself in Negan’s direction, pressing my body against his side. Wrapping his hand between both of mine, I raise my eyes to his with a reassuring look. 

“Hey. We’re gonna be fine, Negan…we always are,” I whisper, pulling his arm over my shoulders. 

“I know, Iz,” he sighs tiredly. “I’m just terrified of anything happening to you, baby. I can’t lose you.” 

At Negan’s admission of fear, I pull myself up to look him in the eyes. His worry is written all over his face and it breaks my heart. I quickly wrap my arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. 

“It’s gonna be okay. Tommy would never let us do it if we were in any real danger,” I assure him. “Besides, I’m real good at handling my shit.” 

I pull back to see Negan’s face, a reluctant smirk materializing across his handsome face. “Don’t I know it.” 

• • • • • • • • • • 

Pulling on a pair of jeans and carefully yanking a t-shirt over my head, I’m careful not to smudge the layers of makeup coating my face. I glance in the mirror to observe Carly’s handiwork. Tommy had involved his wife in our hijinks as well, commissioning her to gussy me up and turn me into a bruised mess. One of my eyes is ringed in dark purple and sickly yellow splotches, a surprisingly convincing black eye. Along one of my cheekbones sits another shadowy streak of makeup. Lastly, several subtle blemishes surround my throat – fading bruises from an unrelenting grip, by all appearances. Carly has done a pretty decent job; the marks covering my skin are subtle enough to appear real while still looking quite serious. 

Walking into the bedroom, I pick up a leather belt as well as the garrote sitting upon the bed. Sliding the belt through the loops of my pants, I thread the deadly wire through as well, tucking it behind the leather belt to conceal it. Knowing that I’ll be patted down before being permitted to enter Lucky’s house, this is one of my only options for a weapon. I yank on a pair of boots before trudging down the stairs where Negan and Tommy wait for me. 

“Yikes,” Tommy gasps when he sees my battered appearance. 

Negan remains silent, studying my face from where he stands. He keeps his expression blank, but I can see in his eyes how uncomfortable he is. I can’t imagine it’s easy for him to see me injured again after everything we’ve been through, even if the wounds are artificial. 

“We ready?” I prompt in a chipper tone. 

Tommy nods before picking up two heavy looking duffel bags and handing one to Negan. Though I’m curious, I don’t bother asking what is in the bags. I have a pretty good idea what it is, anyway. Tommy heads out to the driveway where a large black van is parked and waiting. I approach Negan, wrapping my arms around his slender hips before silently dragging him outside as well. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

“Afternoon, sir. I’m from ADT. Mr. Luciano scheduled an appointment for maintenance on his surveillance cameras.” Frankie’s voice crackles through the hidden mic attached to his uniform, filling the back of the idling van with his scripted words. Negan and I are cramped in the back of the vehicle, waiting patiently for our signal from Frankie. 

I can barely make out the solemn words of the guard at the door as he invites Frankie in before telling him that he’s going to search him for weapons. Frankie agrees and after several moments, the guard can be heard instructing Frankie to follow him through the house. The faint sounds of a beeping keypad can be heard as Frankie enters the room housing the CCTV surveillance. For a long while, the only sound we can hear is Frankie’s shuffling as he fiddles away with the inner workings of the system. 

“Alright, let’s see what we got here,” he mumbles. His words had been planned, a subtle cue to let me know when to make my way into the house. 

“Your time to shine, kid,” Tommy murmurs from the front seat of the van, turning his attention to me. 

My body tenses in nervousness and I swipe my damp palms across my denim-clad thighs. I take a deep breath before nodding to Tommy, letting him know that I’m ready. Turning my gaze onto Negan, I nearly cringe at his facial expression – he looks like he’s about to puke all over himself. Crawling over to him, I straddle his outstretched legs and capture his lips in a forceful kiss. 

“I can do this,” I promise vehemently. 

“ _Please_ be careful, my love,” he whispers. 

I thread my arms around Negan’s rigid body, pulling him close to me. Inhaling deeply, I take comfort in his familiar, masculine scent. I have every confidence that I will make it through this unharmed, but the reality of finally facing the plan I’ve helped formulate has me on edge. I release Negan from my grasp before sliding to the back of the van. I twist the handle and pop the door open so I can hop out onto the pavement. Tossing one last look over my shoulder, I offer Negan a small smile. 

“I love you,” I vow before slamming the heavy door shut. 

I trudge my way a few feet down the street before turning to stroll up Lucky’s driveway. My knees shake slightly, though I continue to pump my legs until I reach the front porch. With several calming breaths, I school my features into the most panicked and distraught expression I can manage. I even go as far as to summon extra moisture to my eyes, making myself look as though I’m about to burst into tears. 

Within moments of ringing the tinkling bell, the ornate wooden door swings open to reveal an intimidating mass of a man. His face is uninviting and his broad shoulders nearly fill the entire expanse of the doorway. I scan my eyes over the thick muscles that bulge beneath his polo shirt and slack, letting my face fall in false fear at the sight of him. 

“Can I help you?” he rasps in a bored tone. 

“I…I…um…I need to see Mr. Luciano,” I stutter shakily. “P-please, sir. It’s an emergency, I need help.” 

I raise my head higher, seeing the moment the bulky man in front of my notices the injuries marring my face. I wrap my arms tightly around my body, making myself appear meek and frightened. 

“I’ll have to pat you down, if that’s alright,” the guard informs me. 

I appreciate his consideration for my apparent condition and almost feel sorry that he’s most likely going to be a part of the fallen once I’m through here. I give him my approval and he directs me into the doorway before gently sliding his hands along my limbs and body, thoroughly checking for any weapons. I release a breath of relief when he removes his hands without locating anything he might consider a threat. 

The guard asks me to follow him down a wide hallway towards the back of the house. We pass several doors and behind one I can hear a symphony of low, mumbling voices. _Guess the meeting already started_ , I think to myself before the guard’s deep voice reaches my ears. 

“Wait in here, please, Miss,” he commands, opening the door to a massive and ornate office and pushing me inside. 

The door shuts behind me and I hear another one nearby squeak open. The indistinct sound of voices ceases for a long moment and I imagine the guard informing his boss of my visit. Before long, the door behind me swings open and shuts quickly, alerting me to the presence of someone behind me. 

“Mrs. Giovanzo,” an accented voice calls. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

I spin on my heels to face the tall, aging man walking towards me. His face is vaguely familiar from when I’d first seen him weeks ago. Though his expression gives little away, I see his eyebrows raised in curiosity when he spots my bruises. I gulp fearfully before speaking to the man. 

“I need help,” I gasp dramatically. “I know you have no reason to help me, but I’m desperate. _Please_.” I let several tears roll down my cheeks, adding to the effect of my words. 

“Who did this to you?” he wonders aloud, gesturing to my injured visage. 

“My husband,” I whisper shakily. “He knows he's losing his power and position with the mob and he takes it out on the people around him. He’s…he’s so violent and horrible and vicious. I need protection, I need your help. I’m begging you.” 

I’m sobbing now, tears pouring down my face as my breath hitches between my words. Lucky’s face takes on a look of pity as he moves to stand behind his desk. I rotate my body, my eyes following his movements as he approaches a cabinet in the corner. 

“Would you like a drink?” he offers, making no attempt to calm my hysterics. 

When I nod my head yes, he grabs two glasses and a bottle of scotch, filling each one about halfway. He turns to me, tilting one glass to his lips while holding the other out in offering. I step around the desk to stand in front of him, sniffling hard as I wrap my fingers around the smooth glass. 

Lucky takes a seat at the desk then, leaving me to stand awkwardly by myself next to the piece of oak furniture. He spins in his chair, facing me and looking me up and down before speaking. 

“So…you want my protection? Or do you want me to get rid of your _dear_ husband?” he rasps, his voice nearly taunting. 

“I…I don’t know. I just want to know I’m safe,” I whimper. “I don’t want him to be able to hurt me anymore.” 

I fight not to visibly cringe as Lucky leers at me like a predator. His stare causes my skin to crawl as it lingers far too long on my breasts and hips. I shift my feet as I grow more and more uncomfortable with the situation, every second I spend being ogled like a piece of meat just makes me want to kill this man more. When Lucky crooks a finger indicating he wants me to move closer, I hesitate, not wanting to be anywhere near the scum. 

“Let’s say I do this little favor for you,” he begins, his eyes piercing mine as I shuffle up to him. “What’s in it for me, Isabella?” 

The slimy, drawn out cadence of his words almost makes me blow this whole thing, giving in to my urge to knock his teeth down his wrinkly old throat, but I reign in my disgust. When his hand reaches out for my waist, I have to gather every bit of self control to keep myself in check. Once my mind processes his groping fingers along my hips, I realize this plays perfectly into my plan. 

I take a single step back, creating about a foot of space between us. Adopting a fearful but submissive look, I reach down for my belt buckle. Lucky’s face is filled with sick glee, but I refuse to look away, too afraid to drop my gaze to his lap and see how this is affecting him. Moving at a slow but determined pace, I pull my belt free, careful to wrap my fingers around the hidden garrote as well. Still holding both my belt and the thin weapon, I swallow the bile rising in my throat and climb onto the desk in front of Lucky. 

The moment he grips the waist of my jeans and turns his attention to the lower half of my body, I make my move. Dropping my belt, I separate the long bit of wire from the leather and pull it taut between my hands. I shove myself towards Lucky, catching the front of his throat with the garrote. Before he can react, I twist my arms around his head while side-stepping to position myself behind his chair. I pull with all my strength, tightening the wire around his neck and preventing any noise from escaping him. Lucky flails uselessly, trying to dislodge the tool from around his windpipe, but his efforts are for naught. My arms visibly shake and my teeth clench as I continue to exert an incredible amount of force on the suffocating man in front of me. I yank his body away from the desk, making sure that none of his wayward limbs impact the oak surface and alert anyone to his desperate struggle. 

Before long, Lucky’s movements grow weak and sluggish from lack of oxygen and he starts to slump in the chair. He paws feebly at his own throat before finally falling completely still. I close my eyes for a second, still not releasing my hold on the tightly wrapped garrote. Leaning over, I observe the bluish tint of Lucky’s face as well as the blood trickling from the tension I’d placed on the wire threaded around his neck. Sure that he is dead, I unravel the garrote and quickly snatch the handset of the phone atop the desk to call Negan. 

I move to the broad window along the far wall of Lucky’s office, glancing back and forth and searching for Negan. With the security system down, no one is going to spot Negan as he sprints across the manicured grass of the yard surrounding the mansion. Finally, Negan’s form slides into view as he rapidly makes his way towards the window I stand behind. Unlatching the hinge, I grunt as I force the window open, just in time for Negan to slip right inside. 

“Tommy?” I ask simply, wondering where he is. 

“At the front,” comes Negan’s short reply. His eyes scan over the cooling body slumped over the desk beside us. “Couple of guys showed up so he’s takin’ care of ‘em. He’ll be here any second.” 

Hearing his words, I realize Negan has both of the duffel bags I’d seen earlier. When he drops them to the floor, I hear a heavy metallic clang. Simultaneously, we crouch down to rip open the zippers on each bag. Inside, I find a Thompson submachine gun nestled among several rounds of ammo. Negan checks that both guns are fully loaded before laying one across the desk and holding the other tightly in his hands. 

“Negan, where the hell is Tommy?” I prod, panic edging it’s way into my words. 

“He’ll be here,” he snaps at me. 

“ _When_?” I hiss. “We’re running out of time. If we don’t do this now, it’s all gonna go to shit.” 

I reach for the gun on the desk, heaving the bulky weapon against my hip as Negan widens his eyes at me. “What the fuck are you doing?” he barks. 

“Helping you,” I offer. “We can’t wait any longer.” 

“Isabella, put the fuckin’ gun down,” he warns in an icy tone. 

I roll my eyes at Negan’s dominating tone as I turn towards him to argue. “Negan, I-,” I begin before he promptly interrupts my statement. 

“You remember the fuckin’ agreement we made?” he growls, putting a large hand on the nuzzle of my gun and trying to pry it from my hands. “You do _whatever_ I say, now drop it.” 

“Do you wanna finish this once and for all or do you wanna wait around with your thumb up your ass and get us all killed?!” I hiss as loudly as I dare with the group of men only a room away. 

With a deep, rumbling growl, Negan releases my gun. He runs his palm down his face and through his short beard, clearly battling himself as he tries to make a decision. He finally shakes his head with a defeated huff and tells me to stay behind him and follow his lead. I smile excitedly at him, but when he glares at me, I quickly wipe the smug expression off my face. 

“A couple that kills together stays together, huh?” I joke blandly, flicking my eyebrows playfully at Negan as he directs me to follow him out of the room. His mood changes drastically at my quip and he offers a tiny smile, finally having to accept my help graciously. 

“Sure do,” he laughs. “You ready for one last thrill, baby?” 

As much as I wanted to move away from exactly this type of brutal crime, I can’t deny the sparks of excitement that zing through my body. This is the first time Negan and I have really worked together rather than having to save one another and somehow it suits our sick and twisted romance perfectly. 

“Let’s do this,” I purr confidently, marching beside Negan into the hallway. 

He glances at me one more time to make sure I’m ready before counting down silently. The moment he mouths the word “now” and smashes his booted foot into the center of the double doors, I brace my feet and apply pressure to the trigger situated under my finger. The house is filled with the thunderous eruption of our respective guns as we unload a haze of bullets into the room full of suited men. Those seated directly in front of us drop immediately, their unfortunate positions making them the easiest targets. 

I don’t bother identifying any of the men, I just continue to let my bullets rip through the room, sending splintering wood and a red mist across every surface in front of me. At the far end of the room, one man stands, wobbling slightly as he tries to open a window and escape. Setting my sights on him, I fire several shots, emptying my clip into his back and shattering the window on the other side of him. The room falls silent as Negan and I cease our gunfire to take in the bloody mess in front of us. 

From down the hall, I can hear Tommy’s booming voice, though I can’t make out his exact words. Turning my head, I panic when I see the brawny guard I’d met at the door, barreling toward me with a pistol trained on me. Time slows as I remember that the clip loaded into my gun is empty. Before the guard can fire at me, a strong grip around my chest snaps me backwards, dragging me instantly to the ground as gunfire echoes down the hallway. I hear Negan grunt in pain from behind me when he hits the floor, but with my hair in my face I can’t make out where he is. I throw my head back to clear my hair out of my eyes and I spot Negan less than a foot away. 

I drag myself over to him, desperately looking for any obvious injuries. He pulls himself up against the wall before assuring me that he isn’t hit. Shoving my hands against the floor, I clamber to my feet and reach a hand out to help Negan up. Down the hallway I spot Tommy with a handgun dangling from his fingers. Between us and him is the body of the guard, now dead. 

Without speaking, I step through the doorway to my right, treading carefully across the blood-soaked carpet. The bodies of the men are all horrifically torn up, but their faces are still identifiable. 

“Make sure we got them all,” I demand, turning back to Negan. 

Since I’ve never had the misfortune of meeting any of the heads of the Five Families, I can’t confirm that we’ve killed them all. Negan joins me in the room, circling the table and meticulously identifying each body. Some of the men are only underbosses and others are just important members of each family, but I’m willing to just write them off as collateral damage. 

“Bonanno, Gambino, Lucchese,” Negan lists off slowly, naming each capo as he rounds the table. He stops moving and meets my eyes with a dark look, his next words freezing me where I stand. “Colombo. He ain’t here.” 

“Could still be in New York,” Tommy inputs from the doorway. 

“Now what the fuck do we do?” I prompt, my voice strained with worry. 

“We get our shit and get the fuck out,” Negan snarls, snatching my arm and dragging me back into the office to discard our guns into the duffel bags and make our escape. 

With a bag slung over my shoulder, I jog lightly, trying to keep up with Negan’s racing steps. Tommy runs ahead of us, sprinting around the corner to get in the van and meet us halfway down the driveway. I pant loudly, my sweaty body propped against the metal shell of the van as Tommy speeds away from the scene of our crime. 

“This could actually work in our favor,” I wheeze, the first to speak since our escape. Upon seeing Negan’s flare of anger and curiosity, I explain. “If we killed them all, it seems too suspicious. The fact that Joseph Colombo is the only boss still standing, everyone is gonna blame him. He’s the youngest and it makes sense that he would take out every other family to try to get on top…he’s got a reputation for being ruthless and out of control.” 

Negan stares at me for a while, considering my words. “I don’t know, Izzie. It makes sense, but we have to see how it plays out,” he admits. “To everyone else, Joe looks guilty, but he knows this wasn’t him. How long before he figures out I’m responsible?” 

I shake my head, not knowing how to respond. I hadn’t even considered that this was a possibility. As far as we knew, all five Family heads were meant to be here. Now we just have to wait and see what happens. Joe’s absence is either going to be the best or worst thing to happen to us.


	61. Ain't No Rest For The Wicked

The first thing my brain registers upon waking is the faint glow of the lamp shining from the other side of the bed. Blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I rub a palm over my face before shifting my body around and resting on my other side. When I roll over, I’m surprised to find Negan still awake given the late hour. He’s sitting up against the pillows, staring absently across the room with his arms tucked comfortably behind his head.

“Hey,” I whisper to get his attention as I reach out and touch my fingers gently to his hip when he doesn’t immediately respond. 

Negan sucks a breath through his nose and finally glances down at me. His face is slightly concerned though he’s quick to mask that fact. He offers me a tiny, tired smile before wrapping his hand around my own and bringing it to his lips to kiss my palm. 

“You okay?” I wonder, noting the worry evident in his face. 

“Yeah, I’m good, baby,” he murmurs dismissively while shifting his eyes away from me. “Just can’t sleep.” 

I toss the blankets off my legs and pull myself up. Turning my body towards Negan, I settle onto my knees and place a hand along his chin to tilt his face in my direction. “You’re a terrible liar,” I contend. “What’s wrong?” 

He smiles sardonically, not bothering to hide the fact that I’m right. As much as he hates it, his few emotions are transparent and more often than not, I can see right through him. Before he graces me with a response, he reaches an arm out, a clear invitation for me to move closer. I slide my body across the mattress and tuck myself into Negan’s side as he wraps his arms tightly around me. 

“That shit that happened today…” he trails off, sighing heavily as he shakes his head. “Never shoulda gone down that way. I’m sorry I put you in that position.” 

Hearing the pain in Negan’s voice, I’m quick to debate his words. “Negan, I offered to help you. I knew what I was getting myself into when I agreed to go into that house.” 

“Still. I just…I don’t want you to be anything like me,” he mumbles. “You’re not a fuckin’ killer.” 

I pull away from Negan then, sitting up again as I stare down at him. I’m shocked by his words and this apparent sudden guilt that has overcome him and is clearly bothering him. I wait for Negan to meet my eyes before speaking. 

“You didn’t force me to pick that gun up,” I hiss, my growing agitation slipping into my words. “And in case you’ve forgotten, it’s not like that was my first kill, Negan. I don’t feel sorry and neither should you. I’m more than familiar with that side of the life and I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty or bloody. I’ll do everything I have to in order to protect what’s mine.” 

Negan wraps a hand around my arm and drags my body over top of his. He threads his long arms around me and hugs me close to his chest as he chuckles deeply. “It’s terrifying how much alike we are,” he huffs. 

“Consider yourself lucky. I’m the only person who’s gonna put up with your shit,” I joke, screaming when Negan pokes his fingers harshly into my sensitive sides. 

“Your feisty mouth is gonna get you in trouble, little girl,” he growls playfully, trapping me in his hold as I try to squirm away from his tickling fingers. 

Negan finally ceases his torture, loosening his grip as we both laugh lightly. When he sighs tiredly, I scoot over to straddle his legs, observing his face. He still looks upset about something and I’m determined to find out what it is. 

“That’s not the only thing bothering you, is it?” I prod softly as I trail my hands over his tan shoulders. 

“You’re too perceptive for your own damn good,” Negan groans, leaning his head back against the headboard. His strong hands grip my thighs as he takes a deep breath and considers how he wants to answer my question. 

“Tell me, babe,” I implore him, growing impatient with his hesitation. 

“I don’t know what to do, Izzie,” he admits quietly. “I don’t know where we go from here. The mob is a fuckin’ cancer. They’re hard to cut out and even harder to kill. Just when you think you’ve gotten rid of them, they pop back up and next thing you know you’re dead.” 

“Are you worried about Joseph?” I ask, immediately knowing that the remaining member of the Five Families is the cause of Negan’s distress. “Is that something we need to handle?” 

“I have no idea. It’ll be a few days before the news hits the streets, I just have to get to him before he finds out,” he offers. 

I nod in agreement, leaning forward to brush a loose chunk of hair away from Negan’s face. “So you talk to him. Let him know what happened and convince him to work with us. Tell him we’re going legit and get him on our side. I’m sure he’s seen and done enough shit that he wants to get away from all the violence just as much.” 

“And what if I can’t convince him?” Negan questions. “Then what? I kill him? That goes against everything we’re trying to do here.” 

“Just talk to him and see how it goes,” I suggest, trying to soothe Negan’s growing agitation. “If he doesn’t cooperate, we go from there.” 

I slide off Negan’s lap as he sits up. Backing away to the middle of the mattress, I watch him throw his legs over the side of the bed as he braces his elbows on his knees and runs his fingers through his messy hair. I desperately want to do anything to make him feel better, but I know nothing I can do will help. I wrap my arms around his chest from behind and press my forehead to his back, hoping my embrace will at least offer some sort of comfort. When Negan speaks, his deep, rumbling words send a vibration through my body and a flash of fear through my heart. 

“I have to go back to New York,” he utters. 

The words frighten me for so many reasons. I’m terrified by the idea of him going back there considering what he’s done to the mob. Granted no one but me and Tommy are aware of it, but news travels fast and it isn’t safe for him to go back home once the information gets out. Aside from that, I can’t stomach the possibility of him being away from me. Negan is my rock, my security, and my safety; without him I’ll feel vulnerable and afraid. Sensing my reaction to his words, Negan regards me over his shoulder. 

“You can come with me,” he offers with a whisper. “I know you probably don’t wanna go back there, but I don’t know if I can leave you on your own right now.” 

I’m surprised by Negan’s confession and decide to swallow my distaste for my home state to ease both of our mind’s. “No, it’s…it’s okay. I’ll go, it’ll be fine,” I stutter, clearly lying through my teeth. Going back home was something I dreaded doing months ago before any of this shit happened and my desire to return now has somehow lessened even more so. Still, I know heading back to New York is our best bet to get to Joe Colombo before he finds out from someone else what we’ve done. 

“I’ll make the arrangements,” Negan announces, rising from the bed and kissing me quickly on the lips before striding out of our bedroom. 

Now alone, I cross my legs and sit in the center of the soft mattress. I have no idea if our plan is going to work, but this is all we have. We won’t know if we don’t try. It’s a risky chance to take with no guarantee of cooperation from Joseph, but it’s the only way for us to protect ourselves and move our lives in a better direction. Curling up against my pillow, I slip back into sleep long before Negan returns to bed. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

I stand at the front door with a warm smile twitching across my lips as my husband crouches in front of our wily puppy, covering his furry head in kisses as he says goodbye. We’ll only be gone for a few days, though Negan is acting as if he won’t see Ziggy for much longer. I wait patiently through several minutes of the adorable and ridiculous behavior before Negan stands up and heads my way. Grabbing our bags, we walk out the front door and walk to the black luxury car idling in the driveway. I fidget nervously the entire drive to the airport, too nervous to hold any sort of conversation with the man seated beside me. 

The long wait in the airport has me so on edge and squirmy that I’m exhausted by the time we finally board the plane. We find our seats in the last row of first class and before my ass has even touched the cushion, I’ve already ordered the strongest alcohol the stewardess has to offer. When she brings my drink, I down it in a single gulp, relief and warmth spreading through my entire body. Negan tosses a sidelong glance in my direction, clearly entertained by my high-strung and stressed out state. I don’t appreciate his smug smirk and I decide to get my revenge when the plane takes off. 

I unfold the complimentary blanket and drape the thin fabric over my legs. I wait several more minutes before I make my move, making sure Negan is fully occupied with the magazine in his hands before I put my plan into action. I’m thankful for the early hour as the sun has yet to rise and the darkness filling the cabin is working in my favor. Tilting my body towards Negan, I scoot closer to him and lean my head against his shoulder. His only acknowledgment of my movement is a kiss to the top of my head before he promptly returns to his reading. I bring my arm up and toss the corner of the small blanket over Negan’s lap. He doesn’t seem to notice until I slip my hand under the material and walk my fingers across his thigh and towards his crotch. His thigh tenses immediately under my touch and the pages of the magazine held in his fingers crinkle loudly as he clenches his hands into tight fists. 

“Whatcha doin’, Izzie?” he ponders, doing his best to keep his voice low and even so as not to bring attention to us. 

“Nothin’,” I respond innocently as I skillfully pop open the closure on his pants and slide my hand inside. 

I’m pleased to find that Negan is already noticeably hard. I bite my lip to suppress a giggle as I wrap my fingers around his thick length. When I squeeze his dick softly, Negan lets out a small groan and shifts in his seat. I push my hand under the waistband of his boxers, trying not to let myself get turned on by the feeling of his hot, throbbing shaft against the skin of my palm. I rub my thumb along the bulging veins that run the length of Negan’s pulsing dick. When I massaging my fingers over the leaking tip and slick a drop of pre-cum down the underside, Negan hisses sharply. 

“Don’t think this is what they had in mind when they said in-flight entertainment,” he groans, his current state of arousal weakening his words and making the statement come out as more of a whimper. 

“Are you really gonna complain when I’m about to make you cum?” I purr sweetly as I pull Negan’s dick from the confines of his underwear and start to pump my hand slowly. 

I watch in awe as Negan throws his head back with his eyes clenched shut and his lips parted slightly. His face of pleasure is incredibly beautiful and arousing and I find myself wanting to draw this out as long as possible. I move my fist from base to tip at a painfully slow pace, occasionally brushing my fingers over the head of Negan’s cock as well as his tensed balls. A bead of sweat begins to form along Negan’s hairline and his breathing picks up so I decide I’ve played with him long enough. I so badly want to lift the blanket and watch as he reaches his climax, but I don’t want to risk us being caught. I pick up the pace of my hand, jerking him off more enthusiastically as I lift my lips close to his ear. 

“I love your cock so much,” I whisper demurely, nipping softly at Negan’s earlobe and enjoying the way his whole body tenses at my dirty words. “I wish I could ride you right now, in front of all these people. I want you to fuck me and show them who I belong to.” 

My sultry and filthy words set Negan off almost instantly as he grips my wrist painfully to stop my movements while his hips lift upward. He struggles to contain the ravenous groan that fights it’s way out of his throat and I take great pride in watching him fall apart in my hands. I push against Negan’s impeding grasp and continue to shift my hand over his twitching cock until I feel his warm, sticky cum start to splash over the back of my hand. Negan finally lets go of my wrist with a string of jumbled curses, allowing me to work him through his extensive orgasm as several more ropes of cum coat my hand. When his slicked length starts to soften in my fist, I stop moving, though I don’t release my hold on him. I glance up at Negan with a saccharine smile as I wait for him to gather himself and open his eyes. 

“You are a bad fuckin’ girl and you are _so_ gonna pay for that little stunt,” he growls lowly as he glares down at me. 

“I know,” I giggle unashamedly as I extract my soaked hand from beneath the blanket. “I’m looking forward to it, Daddy.” 

I can see in his eyes that Negan enjoyed that just as much as I did and I revel in his dominance knowing that he isn’t truly upset with me. Making sure that his eyes are still on me, I lift my hand to my mouth and flick my tongue out to lap quickly at the white cream that’s starting to drip between my fingers. Negan’s nostrils flair and he looks ready to devour me. I give him a playful grin before picking up a napkin to clean my hand of his release. I pretend to be captivated by the view of the rising sun outside the tiny, oval window as I ignore my tense husband and act as though I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m suddenly very excited for this plane to land in New York.


	62. The Baddest Man Alive

I climb out of the rented car after Negan, glad that I hadn’t worn something hideous or frumpy on the plane. We’ve come straight from the airport to a lavish house in Riverdale to meet with Joseph. Much to my relief, Negan had offered for me to join him for the meeting and I hadn’t had to beg to tag along. I’m ecstatic that he’s finally including me in his business rather than trying to shield me from it constantly.

“Is he home alone?” I question softly from next to Negan as he adjusts his expensive suit while we make our way up the driveway. 

“No idea,” he responds. “He thinks he’s just meeting with Tommy so he isn’t gonna have backup. Maybe one or two guys, just in case.” 

“Wait, hold on,” I call out, grabbing Negan’s elbow to stop his languid steps. “He doesn’t know _you’re_ the one coming? Negan, he thinks you’re dead…you’re gonna give the poor guy a heart attack.” 

Negan merely shrugs noncommittally, his face showing no emotion as he glances down at me before continuing up the lane. It hadn’t occurred to me that Negan would’ve lied to meet with Joe, but I suppose it makes sense. The man thinks Negan has been taken out, so he probably wouldn’t have been very receptive to having a sit down with him. Jogging lightly to catch up with Negan, I trot up the front porch steps beside him as he rings the doorbell. It takes several minutes before a young man opens the door and based on his horrified and pale face, I assume this must be Joseph Colombo. 

“Don’t freak out,” Negan offers in the least comforting voice one can imagine as the young man stutters and backs away in a panic. 

Seeing how useless Negan is at assuaging Joe’s fears, I push him aside and step through the doorway. Joe is shaking his head frantically, still struggling to form a single sentence. I hold my hands up to show him I mean him no harm as I follow his backwards steps. 

“We aren’t here to hurt you, Joseph,” I speak gently. “We just need to talk.” 

“Listen, the Families man…they–,” he begins, desperately trying to defend himself and plead his case before he even knows what we want. 

“Doesn’t matter what they did,” Negan growls from behind me. “The heads of the Five Families are all dead. Except you.” 

I roll my eyes obnoxiously at how much worse Negan is making this. Turning to glare at him over my shoulder, I tell him to shut up with a mere look. When I look back to Joseph, it’s clear he thinks he is going to receive the same fate and I’m positive he’s about to burst into tears. 

“Sit,” I command, thrusting a finger in the direction of the sitting room we’re currently standing outside of. “Please.” 

Joseph obeys immediately, tripping over his own feet in his haste. He rushes to the couch and plops down, his eyes never leaving Negan or I as we approach. I perch on the arm of the couch furthest from Joe and Negan stands at the other side. Our positions effectively trap Joe and his twitchy behavior lets me know that he’s well aware of that fact. 

“I already know the Families ordered a hit on me, but I don’t give a fuck about that,” Negan fires off seriously. “What I care about now is that you cooperate, Joseph. You think you can do that?” 

“Y-yeah, of course. I can do that,” he murmurs shakily. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. I need you to work with me and keep your mouth shut about all of this, okay? You pretend you don’t know shit about any of what happened,” Negan demands. “The only story you need to know is that it was an internal problem. It’s no secret that there was dissent among the ranks of the Bonanno family since DiGregorio joined up. Tensions were high with all the Families because of it,” Negan states, crafting a convincing story on the spot. 

He begins to circle the couch Joe sits upon, pacing restlessly across the room. “The FBI is always watching, so I’m sure they’re already well aware of the tenuous relationship. It’s not impossible that DiGregorio got his panties in a twist and went in there gun’s blazin’. The Feds will likely jump to that conclusion anyway, so we’ll let ‘em. Any of your guys ask what went down and that’s the only story you tell. And _don’t_ talk to the fuckin’ cops,” Negan finishes adamantly. 

“I can do that,” Joe submits assuredly. 

“The other four heads have been taken care of, so that just leaves you and me to run this shit,” Negan asserts, waiting for Joe’s nod of confirmation. “Now that I’m in charge, I wanna change things. We’re going legit. We can make shit work without all the bloodshed. That work for you?” Negan asks, though it’s obvious there isn’t actually any choice for Joe. 

“Hey man, that’s fine with me,” Joe answers in surrender. “I didn’t ask to be in charge, I inherited this shit. The less dangerous my job is, the better.” 

“Good,” Negan responds shortly. “You made the right choice, son. Make sure you stick to it. Don’t make me have to come back and find you.” 

With that, Negan signals to me, indicating that we’re leaving. I’m surprised that our visit is over that quickly as I’d been hoping for more action or at least the chance to torture someone into submission or something. Standing from the arm of the couch, I follow quietly behind Negan as we exit the room. Before we reach the doorway, Joe’s soft voice calls out to us. 

“For the record, I had no say in that hit they put out on you,” he admits, prompting both Negan and I to turn around. “The Families thought I was too young and stupid to do anything useful and I was never really included in their decisions. Doesn’t bother me that you killed them, so you don’t have to worry about me ratting you out.” 

I almost feel bad for Joe at his confession. It’s clear he’s had this lifestyle thrust upon him much the way I had and though he wanted to make the best of it, no one ever gave him the chance. Glancing up at Negan, I can see his eyes softening and I wonder if his mind has gone in the same direction mine had. If Joe is willing to cooperate, I trust that Negan will give him his chance to prove himself. With a last promise to be in contact, Negan bids Joe a farewell and directs me back to the car. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

“You comin’?” Negan calls out to me as I stand beside the open car door. 

I stare up at my childhood home, rolling the keys over in my palm as I take in the sight of the familiar house. After everything that has happened here, it’s bittersweet to be back. Taking a deep breath, I slam the car door shut and grab my bag before I pace slowly towards Negan. He throws an arm over my shoulder, leading me to the front door where I shove the key into the lock and swing the door wide to let us inside. 

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” I whisper, picking up my bag and running up the stairs to the bathroom. 

Leaving Negan behind, I toss my suitcase onto my parents’ old bed, opting to use their larger shower rather than my cramped one. I grab a change of clothes and head into the bathroom. I make sure to lock the door behind me as I don’t want to be bothered. I glance at my reflection in the mirror as I wait for the water to heat, noticing how much more alive I look since the last time I really studied myself. When steam fills the room, I strip down and step into the scalding stream of water. I let the heated flow sluice over my body and burn my skin slightly. I close my eyes as I wash my hair, my mind dwelling on the fact that this will likely be the last time I get to be in this house. I hated being back here once, but since accepting my past and my future, I’m unsure how I feel knowing that I have to leave it behind. I take a moment to think of all the good memories from my childhood, all the happy moments interlaced between the bad ones. Tears fall from my eyes as I realize how much I miss my parents. I can’t help wondering if they would be proud of the woman I have become. 

Before I send myself into a full blown breakdown, I slam the handle of the shower into the off position and grab a plush towel as I step out onto the tile floor. I dry myself quickly and slip into the lightweight, gray sundress I’d grabbed. I forego any underwear, picking comfort over practicality as I rub vigorously at my wet hair. Satisfied with my appearance and cleanliness, I pick up my dirty clothes and take them back into the bedroom, tossing them beside my suitcase on the bed. I creak the door open and step into the hallway, heading for the staircase. As I round the corner, I’m met by Negan jogging up the stairs with a suspicious smile on his face. He takes my hand in his own as he drags me back down the hallway. 

“Which room is yours?” he wonders, his voice far too excited for a grown man. 

I snort slightly at his behavior as I point in the direction of a door down the hallway. I nearly trip when Negan takes off towards the room, dragging me along with him. He whips the door open, pulling me close to his side. I peer into the room, hit with a pang of nostalgia as I see it hasn’t changed a bit in nearly a decade. It looks precisely the way I left it when I’d hastily packed my bags and made my escape all those years ago. The desk in the corner is a complete mess of papers and scattered books. The closet doors are open, filled with empty hangers and various articles of clothing sticking out. All of the dresser drawers are open with bits of my wardrobe dangling from them. My bed still boasts a painfully adolescent purple floral comforter and a collection of stuffed animals. Negan enters the room, pushing me ahead of him as he bends down to whisper in my ear. 

“I wanna fuck you in your childhood bedroom,” he rasps, his hot breath trailing over the shell of my ear and down the back of my neck. 

“Negan, what are you–,” I begin, but his sharp voice cuts me off. 

“Are you talking back? That’ll be another punishment,” he proclaims. 

Goosebumps break out over every inch of my skin and I swallow loudly at Negan’s words, remembering his promise to make me pay for teasing him on the airplane. I feel my cheeks burn with arousal and shame at how much Negan’s filthy words turn me on. I can already feel the moisture gathering in my core and with my lack of underwear, I’m worried about dripping all over the soft carpet beneath my toes. Negan wraps an arm around my waist, trailing sloppy kisses down my neck and pressing his erection into my ass before he speaks again. 

“Get on the bed,” Negan demands as he pushes lightly against my lower back. 

I follow his order, taking the few steps to my bed before crawling with shaky arms onto the rumpled comforter. I rotate around and sit on my haunches, waiting for Negan’s next move as he untucks his white dress shirt from his slacks and begins to unbutton it. He watches me intently from across the room, the fire in his eyes and the bulge in his pants giving away just how much this is turning him on. Something about the whole situation in this particular environment feels especially dirty and forbidden, but I can’t deny how wet I am because of it. Playing into Negan’s fantasy, I glance innocently up at him with wide eyes as I roll my lower lip between my teeth. His reaction is instantaneous as he approaches the side of the bed, reaching out to pet a hand through my damp hair. When he sweeps his thumb down my cheek and over my lips, I lean forward to nip and suck gently at his fingertip. 

“Such a good girl,” Negan murmurs as he watches me closely. 

He pulls his thumb from my mouth and rubs the excess saliva down my chin before bending at the waist and kissing me passionately. I moan softly when he shoves his tongue into my mouth and grips both hands on the back of my head to pull me deeper into the kiss. I sit up, bracing my hands on Negan’s chest as my kneeling position brings me closer to his towering height. He stares into my eyes while his hands trail up the backs of my thighs, lifting the hem of my short dress as he grabs my ass. I can tell the moment Negan realizes I’m not wearing any underwear. 

“Where are your panties, babygirl?” he growls, moving his hands to the front of my waist to push me harshly. “Did you just forget them or were you hoping Daddy would bend you over and fuck your bare pussy?” 

I flop onto my back with a breathy squeak and before I know it, Negan is braced over top of me and wedged between my thighs. I reach down to grab my short dress, stuffing the material between my legs as I try to cover myself from Negan’s burning gaze. He spots my subtle movement and quickly grabs my wrists, snatching my hands away from my attempt at propriety. 

“Oh, don’t play coy with me now, sweetheart,” he sneers. “We both know what a dirty little girl you are. I bet you’re already soaked.” 

Negan’s words send a hot spear of arousal through me and I’m distinctly aware of the wetness between my thighs that effectively proves his words to be true. I squirm beneath him, trying to free my wrists from his relentless grasp. He presses my hands beside my head, instructing me to leave them there. He reaches down and flips my dress up over my hips, exposing my damp and swollen folds to his view. 

“That’s what I thought,” Negan mutters, clicking his tongue at me. “Dripping wet,” he hisses as he leans over me to bite my neck and whisper in my ear. “My perfect, slutty angel. Always ready for Daddy’s cock.” 

I whimper wantonly at Negan’s words, lifting my hands to pull his face towards mine and kiss him enthusiastically. He lets me have my way for only a few seconds before he backs away and yanks my body off the mattress, dumping me to my knees on the ground at his feet. I situate myself and look up at Negan, watching while he pulls his belt free from his pants and tosses it onto the bed as he lowers his zipper. Forgetting about the removal of the silky white shirt that hangs loosely from his shoulders, he places a finger under my chin, angling my face towards him as he stares down at me. 

“You made Daddy so hard, baby. I think you should take care of that,” he prods firmly. 

“Yes, sir,” I whimper as I reach for Negan’s pants, lowering them and freeing his thick length from the confines of his dark slacks. 

I take him in my hand and wrap my mouth around the tip of his cock right away, reveling in the deep groan that vibrates through his chest. My tongue presses lightly against the bulging vein running along the underside of Negan’s dick and one of my hands reach up to drag through the coarse hair across his abdomen before slithering down to massage his balls which prompts him to tense and take a tight hold of my hair in both his hands. I widen my eyes doefully as Negan thrusts violently into my mouth, sliding the head of his length against the back of my throat. I gag slightly, my muscles tightening around the intrusion and Negan hisses blissfully. His hips falter and I suck harder before he pulls away, saliva dripping from his cockhead as he breathes rapidly through his clenched teeth. 

“Get up,” he demands sharply, grabbing my arm before I have a chance to move and throwing me face first onto the mattress. 

Before I can shift, I hear the jingling of Negan’s belt buckle as he picks up the discarded leather and whips it against my backside. I cry out at the unexpected sting, though I wiggle my hips in invitation for the next blow. Negan delivers several more lashes and tears gather in my eyes. Though the belt burns against my sensitive skin, I know from experience that Negan isn’t giving his all and could be hitting me much harder. I groan at a particularly harsh blow and move my hands over my ass to protect the flesh from the next hit. Negan drops his belt and slams both my hands back down to the mattress in front of me. He pins my wrists for a moment, a clear warning for me not to move again. 

When he releases me, he moves his hands to my hips, flipping me over and dragging my body closer to him as he presses my thighs apart. I moan right away as he slides his fingertips gently over my mound and through my drenched folds before circling around my entrance. I plead silently with Negan, writhing around in need as he massages my core until I’m in a frenzy. I’m ready to explode when he bends over me to whisper harshly in my ear. 

“How many boys have fucked you in this bed?” Negan barks angrily, threading a strong hand around my throat as he slides his cock through my sodden folds. “Did they fuck you as good as I do? Did they make you cum the way I can?” 

“N-no, Daddy,” I whine, tears leaking from my eyes as Negan rubs viciously at my clit with his free hand. 

“No, no they didn’t,” Negan coos gently though there’s slight venom behind his words. “Because you need a _man_ to fuck you, not a little boy. I bet none of them had a cock as big as mine, did they, babygirl?” 

Before I have a chance to respond to his obscene words, Negan plows into me, a sharp feeling of discomfort coursing through my body as I’m forced to accommodate every inch of him. I scream in pleasure as he repeatedly pushes himself into me to the base before slowing his movements to the point that he’s barely moving against me. 

“Tell me how good I feel deep inside your tight pussy, baby. Tell Daddy how much you love his cock,” Negan orders as he pumps his hips slowly. “Beg me to fuck you until you’re dripping all over your girly sheets.” 

The only sound that leaves my mouth is a keening wail before I manage to calm myself enough to speak actual words. “Your dick feels so good, Daddy,” I slur, drunk on lust. “I need it, please fuck me. Fuck your little girl,” I pant. 

My wavering, breathy words ignite Negan’s arousal and he proceeds to pound into me relentlessly. Our skin slaps together loudly and the only other sound I’m aware of are the pants and grunts flowing fastidiously from Negan’s mouth. He takes a harsh grip of my thighs, pushing them towards my chest and spreading them wide. He watches our connected bodies intently, enraptured by the sight of his thick length disappearing into my willing body. 

“I’m gonna fuck you into this mattress, little girl,” he threatens with a growl as he ravages me. “You won’t even be able to walk when I’m done with you.” 

Negan clenches his teeth and sweat pours down his face as he focuses all of his attention on destroying me and I merely hold on for the ride. He continues thrusting into me with jarring force and my eyes roll back in pleasure as he makes sure to hit every sweet spot. When Negan presses his thumb to my clit, I know he’s nearing his own climax but wants to get me off first. My hips twist desperately and grind against his as Negan assaults the sensitive bundle of nerves and before I know it, I’m clenching around his throbbing dick and crying out as I cum. 

“That’s it, give it to me,” Negan praises. “Cum for Daddy.” 

I ride out my orgasm as Negan chases his own, pressing my legs together and propping both of my feet over one of his shoulders. This position tightens my core around him and makes Negan feel so much bigger, which already has me racing towards another orgasm. He starts to fuck me savagely, his thrusts so powerful that my teeth crack together and my whole body flops around limply. 

“Fuck, Daddy!” I screech as I’m hit with another strong climax that saps the remaining energy from my body. 

“That’s my girl, such a good fuckin’ girl,” Negan rambles sluggishly, his mouth spewing endlessly as he gets caught up in his pleasure. “Show me what a good girl you are.” 

Negan tightens his grip around my thighs, giving one last jolting thrust while he empties himself inside me. His whole body shakes and he grunts loudly as one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever seen washes over him. I feel his cock twitch inside me with every spurt of release and I groan at the full feeling as Negan continues to cum endlessly. Before long, my body can’t contain Negan’s copious release and I feel it begin to leak from my body, slipping past Negan’s softening member and oozing out to puddle onto the sheets below me. He pulls himself out of my rippling pussy and uses his fingers to scoop up the cum leaking from my body and smear it across my sweat-slicked skin, plunging his fingers into my trickling core to gather more of his release to spread over my flushed body. 

We both pant unevenly as we try to recover from our respective climaxes. Negan eases his body to the far end of my bed, bracing himself against the wall as he stares tiredly at my spent form. Neither of us bothers to fix our clothing or cover up as we stare at one another with tired, silly smiles. Our blissful post-coital haze is rudely interrupted by the chiming of Negan’s phone. He reaches into his pocket and lifts a weak arm to glance at the illuminated screen. I nearly laugh at the way he squints before holding the phone further away as he tries to make the screen clearer. A huge smile splits his lips as he crawls up the bed to show me that Tommy had sent him a picture of Ziggy. I giggle at the way Negan gushes over the picture of the goofy pup. 

“I miss my boy,” he laments as he lays his head against my chest and I run my fingers through his hair. “What do you think hes doing right now?” 

“I’m starting to think you love that dog more than me,” I snark humorously, my lips brushing against the damp edges of Negan’s tousled hair. 

Negan glances up at me with a sheepish smile before answering. “I plead the fifth.” 

I push my palm against his face, turning him away from me with a laugh. “Well good, then you can sleep on the couch with him when we get back home,” I joke. 

Negan chuckles softly, tossing his phone onto the dresser beside the bed. He sighs deeply as he cuddles closer to my exhausted body. I shut my eyes and basque in the intimate moment, enjoying the silence and the heat of Negan’s body. As much as I appreciate it, I find myself longing to return to Florida and get back to the new life Negan and I have waiting for us. The thought of going back reminds me that the house we currently sit within is no longer my home and I need to figure out what I’m going to do with it. I poke gently at Negan’s shoulder, earning a grumbled and bothered groan in response. 

“I wanna sell the house,” I chirp, leaning my head back against the soft pillows behind me. 

“What? This one?” Negan wonders, his words muffled by the material of my soft dress where his face is pressed as he points vaguely to the room surrounding us. 

“Yeah,” I confirm. “I don’t need a second house, it’s just gonna sit empty once we go back to Florida.” 

“Okay,” Negan responds simply, pausing for a long while as he ponders the idea. “I can have someone take care of everything for you. Decide what shit you wanna keep and we’ll have it boxed up and sent back home.” 

_Home_ , I muse, _I like the sound of that_. I nod my head silently, relaxing into the mattress and letting my tired eyes slip shut. Before long, I hear Negan begin to snore softly and I bite back a laugh so as not to jostle him awake. I crane my neck to press a gentle kiss against the top of his head, holding him close to me as he naps, a small smile lifting my lips as my exhaustion takes me under as well.


	63. Make It, Take It

Immediately after returning to Florida, Negan set to work with getting his new business started. With no one left above him in the ranks of the Mafia, he’s had to do everything on his own. The few loans and favors he’s earned from past friends and associates are hardly enough to make any progress and I can see how much the stress and hard work is wearing on him. We’ve scarcely spoken in over a week and Negan spends almost all of his time locked away in his office, working and brooding until he’s too exhausted to keep his eyes open and he falls asleep on the couch. I understand he’s putting all of his energy into making a better life for us, but I can’t help feeling neglected with the complete lack of attention.

I walk quietly down the hallway and rap my knuckles against the door of Negan’s office, waiting for permission to enter. I hate to bother him, but I know he can probably stand to spend some time away from his work. When his voice calls out to me, I ease the door open and step inside. Negan doesn’t look up from his desk when I enter, merely continues writing hastily across the papers strewn in front of him. I wait for a moment, but when he still doesn’t acknowledge me, I clear my throat softly. 

“What?” Negan barks, snapping his cold eyes up at me. 

I flinch at his annoyed tone, taken aback by the irritation swirling in his gaze. With my eyebrows raised, I pace slowly towards the large desk. 

“Came to see what you were doing,” I offer gently. “Thought maybe you’d wanna grab lunch or something.” 

“I’m busy,” Negan retorts. 

“Well, can’t you just–,” I prod, hoping to convince him to take five seconds to spend some time with me. 

“I’ve got a lot of work to do, Izzie,” he growls. “Do you mind?” 

Hearing his dismissal, I cross my arms over my chest petulantly. When Negan flicks his eyes to the door, a wave of anger washes over me. With a disgusted huff, I twirl around and stomp out of the room and away from Negan. I swipe angrily at the tears that slip from the edge of my eyes, trying not to let his attitude get to me too much. Deciding not to hold a grudge against my stubborn, moody husband, I begin to devise a different plan to pull Negan away from that damn office before he works himself to death. 

I hold off on my plan for a while, opting to catch up on some monotonous chores to waste some time. When that’s finished, I stride down the long driveway to the mailbox, yanking out the stack of envelopes and flipping through them as I trek back to the house. I’m pleased to find a thick yellow envelope from the contractor Negan contacted about the construction of the hotel he hopes to build. Having to deliver this parcel to Negan plays perfectly into my little scheme. 

Slapping the stack of mail onto the counter, I run barefoot up the stairs and head for the bedroom. I start digging through my drawers, searching for a particular outfit. With an exclamation of victory, I locate the clothing I’m looking for and quickly change into it. I glance at myself in the full length mirror, taking in the revealing outfit that barely covers any skin. The tight white tank top sits just above my midriff and without a bra, my nipples are clearly visible through the thin material. The tiny black spandex shorts are barely longer than the pair of underwear beneath them and I’d show almost as much skin if I were wearing nothing at all. I smile to myself, fully prepared for how pissed Negan is going to be when I tell him I’m leaving the house dressed like this. 

Trotting excitedly back downstairs, I grab the stack of mail to deliver it to Negan. I don’t bother knocking on the door this time, merely swing it open and let myself right in. Negan glances up at me and when I see the thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose giving him a deliciously intellectual appearance, I nearly lose track of my entire plan. I hesitate only slightly before walking up to the desk with my handful of small parcels. Negan observes me closely, his eyes darkening as he trails them over all of my visible skin. 

“These came for you,” I intone shortly, tossing the envelopes on to the desk before turning to walk back out. “I’m gonna run some errands, be back later.” 

“What errands?” Negan demands, his aggressive tone stopping me mid-step. 

I spin slowly, regarding him with a bored expression. “Don’t worry about it. You’re _busy_ , remember?” 

“I’d be real careful with that tone if I were you,” Negan warns. “You’re not goin’ anywhere dressed like that.” 

“Aren’t I?” I ask, my voice drawling and saccharine. 

Negan slips the glasses from his face and chuckles humorlessly, a sound that lets me know I’m in trouble. “Clearly you wanted my attention with that little get-up. Well, you fuckin’ got it, sweetheart,” Negan states before his tone darkens. “Get over here, now.” 

For a moment I consider ignoring Negan’s request, but seeing as my plan is working, I decide to obey. Still, I make sure to move as slowly as possible while making my way to the other side of the room with my arms crossed. I know where Negan wants me, though I stubbornly stand on the opposite side of his desk until he curls his fingers to direct me around the piece of furniture. 

“Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing, darlin’,” Negan rasps as he stands up and pushes me against the edge of the desk. “I’ll give you what you want, don’t worry.” 

“Will you? I thought you had work to do,” I drone sarcastically as I stare up at Negan, batting my lashes obnoxiously. 

“You’re _really_ pushin’ it, young lady. I’d fill that smart mouth with my cock if I didn’t know exactly how much you’d love it,” he snarls, wrapping a hand through my hair to angle my head to the side and nip at my neck. 

I let out a tiny moan when Negan presses his warm palm to my bare stomach and pushes his fingers under the waistband of my tiny shorts and thin panties. My breath hitches as his long fingers drift along my folds and I can already feel the moisture seeping from my body. 

“You wanna play, baby?” he murmurs, pulling his hand away from my body as I nod enthusiastically. “Good. Touch yourself.” 

I fulfill Negan’s request immediately, using one hand to brace myself on the desk and sliding my other fingers into my underwear as I tilt my head in his grip to watch his enraptured face. My fingers slip easily through my sodden folds as I rub myself slowly and circle my swollen clit. Negan volleys his eyes between my face and my pelvis, watching my hand working away beneath my shorts. He glances at me with a wicked smirk as he lifts his hand to my face and pops his middle finger between my lips. I circle my tongue around the long digit, moaning softly as I pleasure myself. Before long, Negan pulls both hands away from me and reaches for my shorts, pulling them down and slipping them off my body entirely. 

“Don’t stop,” he demands as he continues watching my lewd display. “I wanna see you make yourself cum all over those fingers.” 

Clenching my thighs with a whimper, I circle my fingers more vigorously against the bundle of nerves as Negan lowers my panties to mid-thigh. He presses his hands to my hips, his thumbs rubbing soothingly against the soft skin as he leans towards me to place his lips against the shell of my ear. 

“You’re going to cum for me and then I’m going to bend you over my desk and fuck you until you’re screaming,” he whispers dirtily, igniting the fire burning in my core. “Would you like that, Izzie?” Negan purrs in response to my enthusiastic moan. 

“Yes,” I whine, my thighs shaking as I close in on my orgasm. “Please, Negan.” 

Negan shushes me, silencing my begging as he runs his hands all over my body, continuing to rasp filthy words into my ear to encourage my impending climax. He instructs me how he wants me to touch myself; how hard and fast to rub and when to slip my fingers inside my quivering pussy. My breathing picks up and Negan pants against my ear as he observes my movements closely. 

“Fuck, just like that. Keep rubbing that sweet pussy. You’re so close, babygirl,” Negan grunts, his hot breath blowing across my skin as he digs his fingers into my waist. “Cum for me, right fuckin’ now.” 

Hearing Negan’s adamant demand, I let out a deep moan and close my thighs around my hand as I explode around my fingers. I cry out as my hips tilt and Negan’s holds on to me, his pupils blown wide with lust and his lips parted while he studies my clenching and shaking body. 

“Negan,” I breathe, calling out desperately as my orgasm rips through my body. He shifts his hands to my thighs, parting my legs as the last convulsions of my orgasm pulse through me. “Oh, shit.” 

“Such an obedient little girl,” he praises, as he crouches down and licks a drop of my release before it can drip down my thigh. “I think you deserve a reward.” 

I squirm in his hold, running my fingers through his hair as he presses his lips to my inner thigh, moving closer and closer to my wet center. He moves slowly, making me wait for the pressure of his warm mouth against me. My knees nearly give out when he drags his tongue through my swollen folds and takes my clit between his lips to suck gently on it. Before I have a chance to reach the peak of my next orgasm, Negan stands quickly and spins me around to bend me over his desk. 

“I wanna hear you say it,” he demands, bunching my hair around his fist as he drags his fingers across my entrance from behind. “Lemme hear how badly you wanna be fucked, babygirl.” 

“Negan, I need your cock inside me,” I purr boldly. “Fuck me until I cum all over you, please.” 

He reacts instantly, slapping my ass and leaning over me to bite my shoulder sharply. “Tell me where you want me to fuck you, Izzie. I need to hear you say it.“ 

I clam up then, suddenly much less confident with my dirty talk than I’d been mere moments ago, trying instead to convince Negan to fuck me by pressing my hips back against him and begging pathetically for him to take me. Unfortunately, that isn’t good enough for him and he prods me further to open my mouth. 

“If you don’t tell me where you want it, _I’m_ going to chose, and I’ve been dying to fuck that tight little ass,” Negan growls. His words wash over me and I’m so incredibly turned on that I nearly combust on the spot. A pornographic moan slips from my mouth and Negan laughs darkly behind me. “Damn, you’re a filthy fuckin’ bad girl. If that’s what you wanted, all you had to do is ask.” 

“Fuck. Negan, please. I want it,” I whine, almost in tears over his stalling. 

“You’re gonna fuckin’ get it, darlin’,” he barks as he plunges his fingers deeply into my throbbing pussy and rubs viciously against my walls. “We gotta get you fuckin’ dripping first.” 

Crying out as Negan thrusts his fingers harshly inside me, I reach for he opposite edge of the desk and brace myself for his assault. I spread my legs further, feeling the elastic band of my panties digging into my thighs as I stretch the material taut. Before long, I feel a heat deep in my core and my muscles clench as a rush of liquid floods from my body. The spray of release drips down my thighs and coats Negan’s forearm generously. I tense slightly when Negan drags his soaked fingers from my core and up to my tight hole. Using the copious liquid on his fingers, he slicks them over me, lubricating the flesh in preparation for his penetration. 

I begin to pant as I ready myself for what’s coming, swinging my hips side to side as Negan rubs me gently, trying to relax me. The sound of his belt buckle and zipper causes me to tense all over again as I hear him slicking his wet fist over his length from behind me. I jump when I hear Negan spit loudly before his knuckles bump the back of my thigh as he smears saliva along his dick. 

“You good, doll?” Negan prompts, his voice softer than it had been. 

“Yes,” I whisper, my tight muscles relaxing as Negan massages his palm gently over my backside. 

“Spread yourself for me,” he orders, kicking my feet further apart as I obey, reaching back to grip the plump flesh of my ass and expose my holes to him. 

When Negan spits into his hand again and inserts a slippery finger into my tightness, I take a deep breath and press my sweaty forehead to the desk. He pumps his long finger slowly, easing my tight muscles and stretching me. The foreign sensation is strange, though not entirely unpleasant. After a few minutes, Negan removes his finger and steps closer, gripping my hip in one hand and his shaft in the other. He offers several soothing words as he presses the head of his dick to the tight ring of muscle, taking his time as he eases his way into me. 

“So goddamn tight, Izzie,” he murmurs with clenched teeth from above me, a palm pressed firmly to my lower back. 

I do everything I can to relax my body, allowing Negan to push all the way in. Once the slight burn of being stretched so much fades, I find that I don’t mind the intense fullness. Negan remains still, showing incredible restraint as he waits for me to let him know it’s okay to move. I press backwards subtly, pushing my hips into his and he reacts instantly; thrusting gently as he bends over me to press his forehead to my back. We move in unison, our hips gyrating fluidly and I feel myself speeding towards another orgasm. 

“Fuck! Negan, I’m gonna cum,” I scream as I wiggle my hips. 

My desperate words and movements encourage Negan to piston his hips faster, edging me along towards my climax. Without a word, he slips his fingers between my thighs, flicking quickly against my engorged clit and sending me headfirst into an intense orgasm. My core clenches around nothing, though the rippling muscles cause me to squeeze around the cock buried in my ass and Negan responds with a resounding groan. As my orgasm ebbs, Negan pulls out, fisting himself rapidly as he cums across my ass and growls ferociously. The warmth covers my skin before Negan directs the spurts between my legs, his release collecting in the stretched material of my underwear. 

Negan slides my panties back over my hips, pressing the soaked fabric into my skin as he drags my shaking form into his arms and drops into the plush leather chair behind him. I fall limply into his lap, relying entirely on him to keep my body upright. The small bits of our exposed and sweaty skin sticks together, though I can’t bother being annoyed by the clinging sensation. Negan takes a moment to calm his heavy breathing as he holds me close to his warm body. 

“Need a fuckin’ smoke after that,” he mumbles, leaning forward and holding me in place as he opens a desk drawer and begins to rummage around inside. 

Coming back to reality, I register what Negan is looking for and I bite my lip nervously when I remember I’d filched his cigarettes and thrown them out the last time I was in here. I watch as he digs hastily through the drawer, growing frustrated with his fruitless search. 

“You didn’t happen to find my cigarettes the last time you were in here, did you?” Negan implores, his voice smooth and slow. 

I can tell from Negan’s tone that he already figured out I tossed the cancerous sticks, though that doesn’t stop me from playing dumb. “Nope, no idea where they are,” I offer, making no effort to mask the obvious guilt in my words. 

“You know…I can _always_ tell when you’re lying,” Negan growls playfully as he wraps a hand loosely around my throat and pulls my head back to rest against his shoulder. 

I giggle softly, leaning against Negan as I relax in his arms. He grunts tiredly as he threads his arms tighter around me, his fingers sweeping absently up and down my bare thigh. I squirm weakly when Negan presses his lips to the side of my neck, trying to escape the tickling sensation. 

“Thank you for this,” he murmurs roughly. 

“You needed to take a break and I wanted to fuck,” I retort saucily, grinding my panty-clad bottom against Negan. 

“Mm, of course you did, my beautiful dirty girl,” he hums against my ear. “Well, you got your wish, I guess. I can’t get any work done like this…covered in my own jizz because of you.” 

I sit up, glancing friskily over my shoulder to stare down at Negan. “No one told you to cum all over my ass and then make me sit in your lap,” I defend. 

“Maybe next time I’ll cum _in_ your ass,” Negan threatens darkly. 

“Maybe next time I want you to,” I purr with a wink, not wanting to let Negan get the last word. 

He constricts his arms around me, sitting up to press his chest to my back as he nips sharply at my jaw. “Careful Isabella, gonna get yourself in big trouble talking to me like that,” he warns, dragging his hand between my thighs to cup my mound through my underwear. 

“If it means I get your attention for the rest of the day, I’ve got all kinds of dirty things to say to you,” I promise sweetly. 

Negan chuckles deeply at my hopeful words, hugging me from behind. He pushes me from his lap, adjusting his clothing just enough to cover himself before throwing an arm around my shoulders. I spin in his hold, pressing my hands to his chest as I look up at him, smiling at the warmth in his eyes. 

“Alright, fine,” he concedes. “I’m yours for the rest of the day.” 

“Really?” I chirp excitedly. 

“Yeah, I’m sick of this shit anyway,” Negan admits, nodding in the direction of the papers piled on his desk. “C'mon, let’s go get cleaned up and then we’ll do whatever you want.” 

Negan bends at the waist, placing a soft kiss against the tip of my nose and causing me to blush lightly. I wrap my arms around his neck for a moment before grabbing his hand and dragging him upstairs, through our room, and into the bathroom. Catching on to what I want, Negan reaches into the large tub, turning the taps and letting the steaming water flow. We share a short look of challenge before racing to see who can strip out of their clothes faster. Given my lack of attire, I’m standing stark naked before Negan has anything more than his t-shirt whipped over his head. With a victorious grin, I stride towards him, helping him out of what remains of his outfit. He lifts me in his arms before lowering us both into the heated water, letting the warmth surround us as we relax, tangled up in one another.


	64. Castles Made Of Sand

I follow the sound of banging coming from within the garage, rounding the corner to peek inside. I smirk mischievously when I find Negan bent over a stack of boxes, digging determinedly through them. Sneaking across the concrete floors, I move behind him before screaming loudly and grabbing a handful of his ass through his dark jeans. Negan jumps, barely stopping himself from toppling headfirst into the pile of boxes as he whirls around towards me, his face darkened with annoyance and an inkling of fear.

“Fuck, Izzie,” he grunts in exasperation, eyes squinting slightly as he stares down at me. 

“Aw, did I scare you, baby?” I tease. 

Negan raises his brows incredulously at my teasing, his tongue flicking out to drag along his lower lip as he regards me with amusement. I take several steps back as Negan tries to close the small distance between us, eventually pushing me against the low workbench nestled against the wall. Biting my lip to hide my wide grin, I peer up at Negan as he braces his hands on either side of me. He blows out an exaggerated breath, watching me closely for an extended moment with a tiny smile gracing his lips. 

“You think that’s funny, little girl?” he implores, humming in response to my subtle nod of confirmation. “Such a fuckin’ brat.” 

I squeak noisily as Negan grabs my ass and lifts me onto the surface of the workbench, prompting me to thread my arms around his neck. My squeal quickly turns to a scream as Negan begins to tickle me mercilessly. His nimble fingers dig harshly into my sensitive sides as he places sloppy kisses along my neck, dragging his short beard across my skin. 

“Negan, stop!” I screech through a laugh, using both my hands and feet to fight off his relentless attack. 

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he chuckles, trapping both my wrists in a single hand and not letting up one bit. “You need a little punishment, sweetheart.” 

Gasping with laughter as tears stream down my face, I cackle maniacally in Negan’s grasp. “This isn’t the kind of punishment I want,” I force out. 

“Is that so? And what is it you want, huh?” Negan wonders, finally ceasing his tickling to place a hand on each of my hips. “Were you hoping I’d take you over my knee and spank that pretty ass?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper, smiling coquettishly at his husky words. 

“Goddammit, Iz,” he groans woefully, leaning forward to press his forehead against my shoulder. “I was gonna take you out for a ride, but there’s no way I’m getting on a bike with the stiffy I just sprung.” 

A raucous laugh escapes my mouth as I card a hand through Negan’s dark locks, cradling his head against me. He mumbles another complaint against my skin, making me laugh harder at his defeated tone. I push him away after a few minutes, meeting his gaze with pleading eyes and a soft smile. 

“So, about that ride…” I prompt sweetly. 

“Alright, c'mon,” he cedes with a sigh and a roll of his eyes, picking me up and placing me on my feet before returning to the pile of boxes in the corner. He finally locates what he’s looking for, lifting a helmet from inside and tossing it to me. “Put that on,” he commands gently. 

“What about you?” I ask, noting his lack of a helmet. 

He picks one up from the ground and I immediately recognize the badly damaged surface of the fiberglass headgear. Negan glances up at me with a smirk, running his fingers over the deep scrapes as he takes several steps over to me. “Guess I’ll use this until _someone_ gets me a new one,” he taunts. 

“Shut up,” I sass, pushing against his chest. 

“You better get your sweet ass on that bike before I really do punish you, babygirl,” he growls playfully. 

Negan takes the helmet from my hands and plops it over my head, wiggling it around until it’s perfectly adjusted. I smile goofily at him, snorting out a laugh when he raps his knuckles sharply against the hard surface of my helmet. I turn towards my Harley, gasping when Negan lands a slap across my backside. Climbing over the bike, I situate myself before Negan thrusts a bundle of leather into my arms. I unravel the material to see that it’s a leather jacket and gloves, which I promptly wrap around my body and over my hands. 

“You good?” Negan implores, shoving his long arms into his own jacket and pulling on a pair of gloves. 

“Great,” I offer with a smile. “Where we goin’?” 

“It’s a surprise,” he responds vaguely with a conniving look before flipping the visor of my helmet down over my face and climbing onto his bike. He starts it with a thunderous roar, followed by the equally throaty growl of my own motorcycle. Negan fiddles with something on the dash of his bike before releasing his kickstand and glancing over his shoulder at me. He lifts a leather-clad hand and crooks two fingers, motioning for me to follow him out of the garage. 

A rush of adrenaline courses through me as I trail closely behind Negan, speeding along the paved roads with the wind whipping past us. He navigates his bike expertly and though I can’t see his face through the dark visor of his helmet, I know he is constantly checking his mirrors to keep an eye on me. We ease onto the highway, picking up speed as we weave in and out of the lines of moving traffic. Before long, Negan slows and takes an exit, heading in the direction of the coast. 

I keep up with him as the roads become more winding before opening up into a vast, empty parking lot butted up against the white sandy beach. The property is sprawling; filled with several smaller buildings surrounding the base of a towering, unfinished structure. A large grin lifts my lips beneath my helmet as I realize where Negan has taken me. We direct our bikes into the paved lot, rolling to a stop before we kill the engines. I dismount my bike and remove my helmet and gloves, making my way over to Negan as he does the same. Walking over to him, I wrap an arm around his waist as he pulls me into his side and slides a pair of sunglasses onto his face. 

“This is it?” I ask, glancing up at the tall building. 

“Yep, that’s it,” Negan responds, looking on as well. 

“It’s huge,” I offer as I admire the size of the massive building. 

Negan laughs softly as he pulls me closer, pressing his lips to my cheek. “I thought you liked big things, baby,” he mumbles with a smile. 

I shove him away with a laugh and he grabs my hand, dragging me alongside him as he moves towards the building. We stand as close as we can, just outside the active construction area as we observe the progress of the hotel. Hand in hand, we stroll around the perimeter of what will soon be a grand and luxurious resort. We chat aimlessly until we reach the soft sand of the beach. I remove my heavy jacket, the blazing sun creating a sheen of sweat on my body now that there’s no longer a ferocious breeze blowing past me to cool me off. Negan slips his jacket off as well, taking mine from me and folding them both over his arm as we continue walking. My boots sink into the smooth terrain while we trudge nearer to the ebb and flow of the briny seawater. 

“Is this all yours?” I wonder aloud, my eyes scanning back and forth along the expanse of sand adjacent to the ocean. 

“It’s ours,” Negan responds softly. 

I turn towards him, studying his smiling face from where he stands behind me. Taking several steps towards him, I stand on my toes to wrap my arms around the back of his neck and bring his face close to mine. I smile up at him, pressing our foreheads together for a moment before pecking him on the lips. 

“Negan,” I whisper, “I’m so proud of you. You did all of this, you did good." 

He grins then, wrapping an arm around my lower back and threading a hand through my hair to drag me into his chest. Capturing my lips in a voracious kiss, Negan pulls me impossibly closer. I melt into his embrace, returning his affections in kind. Our lips separate with a wet pop as Negan lifts his sunglasses to his forehead to stare down at me with adoration. 

"Marry me,” he murmurs jokingly, almost too quiet for me to hear. 

“We’re already married,” I giggle, shaking my head at Negan’s ridiculous grin. 

“Right, okay…again, then,” he counters with a chuckle, his lips lifted slyly. 

I reach for him again, replacing my lips on his for a long moment. “Anything for you,” I promise. 

Negan and I wander along the packed wet sand with our arms linked together, the waves lapping gently at our shoes. My boots suck loudly against the damp grit as I basque in the warmth from the sun with Negan suspiciously quiet at my side. I sigh deeply as we make our way back towards the vacant parking lot. 

“I hope this works out for us,” Negan confesses, fiddling with the helmet he’d lifted from the seat of his bike. 

“We’re gonna be okay, Negan,” I reassure him. 

I move to stand between Negan’s thighs when he sits down on his propped bike. I run my fingers through his thick hair before laying my hands on his shoulders and meeting his soft gaze. It’s clear in his face that he’s still stressed and worried about what our future holds. After everything we’ve been through, all he wants is for us to be okay and to have a good life. _You and me both, pal _.__

__“Thank you, Izzie,” he says, wrapping a hand around one of my wrists, bringing it to his lips to kiss the soft skin. “For having faith in me through all of this. It hasn’t been easy on you, and I appreciate you hanging on while I get this shit together for us.”_ _

__“I know, baby,” I respond. “You’re working so hard and I have every reason to believe you’re going to come out on top once this is finished,” I offer, nudging my head in the direction of the hotel._ _

__Negan’s eyes follow my gesture, glancing once more at the structure before turning back to me. “You know…the hotel was a great idea,” he says with a smirk. “But once it’s finished, I have no fuckin’ idea what I’m gonna do with it.”_ _

__“Ah, you’re smart, you’ll figure it out,” I retort with snark._ _

__“Very funny,” Negan mutters as he stands, zipping up his replaced jacket before handing mine back to me. He climbs onto his bike, turning towards me as he adjusts his helmet. “Let’s get home. You owe me a blowjob at _least_ for earlier,” he calls out, prompting a bubbly laugh to spill from my mouth as I fit my helmet over my head and give him the finger. We start our bikes once more, tearing out of the parking lot as we race home for some much anticipated fun._ _


	65. Edge Of The Unknown

For the first time in over a year, I wake to find Negan beside me in the bed. After months and months of him working hard and losing sleep over his business endeavors, the sight of my slumbering husband is a welcomed one. Propping myself on an elbow, I take in his softened features and parted lips as the sound of his steady breathing fills the room. I smile softly, wanting to wake Negan, but knowing how much he needs and deserves a good night’s sleep.

“If you stare any harder, your eyes are gonna fall outta your damn head,” Negan mumbles groggily. 

I giggle softly as he flicks one eye open to glance at me from beneath his lashes. He takes a deep breath as he drags a palm over his scrunched face, scratching lightly against his growing scruff. Rolling slightly, he faces me as he reaches a hand out to rest atop my hip. 

“Sorry I interrupted your beauty sleep,” I whisper. “You definitely need more of it.” 

Negan tilts his head comically and drops his mouth open in feigned shock upon hearing my cheeky comment. “Someone’s feeling sassy this morning,” he growls as he launches his body in my direction and braces himself above me, pinning me to the mattress. 

I let out a tinkling laugh as Negan bites me all over, nipping from my jaw to my neck and down to my collar bones. His soft lips contrast with the sharp sting of his teeth and the course hair covering his face; the combination of stimulus tickles my skin. When Negan tugs the neckline of my tank top lower and presses his lips to the top of my breast, I push my palms lightly on his chest to get his attention. 

“We gotta get up,” I whine, turning my head towards the bright red digits displayed on the nearby alarm clock. “Got lots to do today." 

"Mm, nah,” Negan counters, his warm breath blowing against my chest. “Only thing I wanna do today is _you_.” 

I sigh contentedly as Negan drags his hands along my sides, making me squirm when he shoves his warm palms under my thin shirt. Shutting my eyes, I revel in the sensation for a moment before reminding myself that we really do need to get this day started. 

“C'mon, boss man,” I groan, extracting myself from beneath Negan’s heavy form. “Your public awaits." 

"Calling me that is doing approximately nothing for my morning wood,” Negan laments, flopping against the mattress as I escape his grasp. 

Jumping out of the bed, I run my fingers through my tangled hair as Negan watches me lovingly from the spot I’d just vacated. Everything in me wants to hop back under the blankets and let Negan have his way with me, but with the grand opening of his hotel tomorrow, there’s far too many last minute preparations that need to be handled as soon as possible. 

“The fuck am I supposed to do with this?” Negan nearly whines, gesturing to the sizable erection visible beneath the sheets. 

“Take a cold shower,” I offer nonchalantly over my shoulder as I head into the closet to collect one of Negan’s suits. 

As I lay the black ensemble at the foot of the bed, Negan sits up, the silky sheets gathering around his trim hips. He props his forearms atop his bent knees, glaring at me though he’s smiling slightly. I observe him expectantly, waiting for him to get up, all the while knowing that he’s waiting for me to climb back into bed with him. When I don’t relent, he surrenders, grunting dramatically as he rises from the bed and lets the sheets fall away from his naked body. I make no effort to hide the way I leer at him as he moves towards me. 

“You are an evil, _evil _woman, you know that?” he whispers with a grin as he kisses my temple.__

__“You love it,” I sneer playfully._ _

__“Fuckin’ right I do,” he confirms, grabbing my ass as he moves past me into the bathroom._ _

__I turn and watch the way the muscles in Negan’s toned back bunch and ripple as he swaggers away from me. I bite my lip as I rake my eyes over his impressive body. I spend only a moment warring with myself before finally deciding to follow after Negan to join him in the shower a lend a hand to his unsatisfied arousal._ _

__• • • • • • • • • •_ _

__Arm in arm, Negan and I ascend the few stairs leading to the golden-framed doors of the Miramar Playa. He opens the door wide, pulling his arm from mine as he ushers me inside ahead of him. I’m hit with a wave of fresh-smelling and cool air as I take in the lavish and ornate decoration of the wide room. A few people mill about here and there, carrying anything from boxes to towels as they ready the hotel for our very first guests. Negan blows a sharp breath through his nose from beside me, prompting me to look up at him and study his visage. His jaw is clenched and his brows slightly furrowed as he scans the uniformed people scurrying around the room._ _

__“You got this,” I reassure him gently as he offers me a tight-lipped smile._ _

__Negan stops a worker as he rushes past, latching onto the young man’s arm and grabbing his attention. “What’s your name, son?” he questions._ _

__“Ray, sir,” the worker answers timidly._ _

__“Do me a favor, Ray Ray…round everybody up. Time for your first official staff meeting,” Negan demands._ _

__Though he tries to make his tone bored and noncommittal, the strain behind his words is obvious to my ears. We watch as Ray circles the room, muttering to his coworkers who turn their attention on us as they move in from the edges of the room. As a crowd begins to gather, I grasp Negan’s elbow, pushing him gently to the center of the lobby. He offers only a succinct look of bitterness as I force him into the metaphorical spotlight. With his hands wringing nervously, Negan glances around the room before clearing his throat softly._ _

__“I don’t need to tell you all what an important day tomorrow is,” Negan begins tersely. “You all know what needs to be done and I’m counting on you not to let me down.”_ _

__I smile softly at Negan’s passive aggressiveness, trying not to chuckle at his inability to be polite. He continues addressing his new employees, scratching nervously at the back of his neck when he isn’t sure how to finish out his impromptu speech. I sidle up to his side, standing beside him in support as I rub his arm reassuringly. He peers down at me quickly and I raise my eyebrows slightly, urging him to continue._ _

__“I want to thank you all for being here to support this dream. It means a lot to me…to us,” he corrects, wrapping an arm around my waist. “I have every confidence that our grand opening is, in fact, going to be fuckin’ grand. As long as you do your job, you’ll be taken care of here. Lets make tomorrow a good day.”_ _

__A silence falls over the room for only a short second before it erupts with a thunderous applause. Every face around us is smiling and I find myself joining in, my body brimming with excitement for tomorrow. _I’m so proud of him_ , I muse as I wrap my arms around my clearly uncomfortable husband. I tuck myself against his side, glancing up at him with admiration and adoration as the raucous sound of clapping gradually decreases. _ _

__“See, that wasn’t so bad, right?” I tease, justifying the way I’d urged Negan into giving the preceding speech in the first place._ _

__“Hm, I think you’re gettin’ a little too big for your britches. Has Daddy gotta remind you who’s in charge?” Negan jests with a wicked grin as he leans over me to kiss my nose quickly. “So what now?”_ _

__I consider Negan’s sighed question for only a moment as I ponder what else needs to be taken care of. “You built a palace, now it’s time to be king,” I purr confidently, turning to stand on my toes and wrap my arms around Negan’s neck._ _

__“Will you be my queen?” Negan proposes raspily._ _

__I nod my head enthusiastically, assuring Negan of my loyalty to him. He threads a hand through my wavy locks, yanking my lips against his as he kisses me soundly. I allow Negan to nip and suck at my lower lip, reciprocating his actions fervently before remembering where we are as well as the audience of spectators surrounding us. When the crowd erupts in a chorus of hollers and whistles, Negan laughs heartily before replacing his lips on mine and kissing the breath from my body._ _

__• • • • • • • • • •_ _

__I glance at the thin silver watch circling my wrist once more before sighing impatiently. I’ve been sitting in a dark corner of the Atlantis Lounge for over 30 minutes, awaiting Negan’s arrival. I know he’s beyond busy with finalizing the opening of the resort tomorrow, but we had plans to meet for a late lunch and he’s kept me waiting for longer than I can tolerate. Trying not to get too frustrated with him, I rise gingerly from the booth and head for the doors._ _

__My shoes squeak quietly against the pale marble floors as I pass through the lobby in the direction of the grand staircase that leads to the upper level. I take the stairs two at a time, rushing to the top where I scoot past the stone banister and down the short hall in the direction of Negan’s new office._ _

__When I reach the cozy waiting area, I find Negan’s sweet secretary seated at the desk just outside the office door. Florence scribbles diligently across a sheet of paper, her glasses slipping down her sharp nose as she works. Finally hearing my approaching steps, she glances in my direction, pushing her spectacles onto the bridge of her nose as she regards me with a warm smile._ _

__“Hi hon, what can I do for you?” she offers brightly, laying her pen down on the surface of the desk as she gives me her undivided attention._ _

__“Apparently someone forgot to add ‘lunch with my wife’ to his schedule,” I scoff good-naturedly._ _

__My smile falters a bit when Flo’s face falls in confusion. “Oh…oh no, I thought that’s where he was headed. He left a little bit ago, didn’t he meet you?” she questions frantically._ _

__I shake my head vehemently, furrowing my brows a bit at Flo’s mutual confusion. _If he’d told Flo about the lunch we had scheduled then where did he end up?_ _ _

__“Well, not to worry. We’ll find him right away, Mrs. Giovanzo,” Flo assures me._ _

__“You can call me Izzie,” I respond with a smile, seeing no need for such formality._ _

__Flo nods in understanding as she lifts the handset of the phone on her desk, pressing it to her ear as she quickly punches in a number. After a few seconds, she greets the person on the other end of the line, using a name I recognize as the general manager of the Miramar. Flo exchanges only one more short reply before offering a word of thanks and returning her attention to me._ _

__“Victor says he’s out by the pool…Izzie,” Flo grins, lifting her hand in a tiny wave as I thank her and spin around to head back downstairs._ _

__I practically fly down the stairs, whipping around the base of the stairwell as I trot towards the rear of the hotel. I reach the back entrance quickly, pushing through the heavy glass doors and stepping out into the humid noon air. I stride across the concrete patio surrounding the massive pool, my eyes immediately falling on Negan standing at the edge. His once crisp white dress shirt is slightly rumpled and wrinkled, the sleeves haphazardly rolled up and cuffed at his elbows._ _

__My eyes scan over him, displeased to find a smoldering cigarette dangling from his long fingers. Just as I spot the cigarette, Negan tilts his head back to blow out an impressively large stream of smoke. It’s obvious now from his body language just how stressed he is and I find myself easily forgiving his forgetfulness._ _

__“Not even one whole day of being a big, bad businessman and you’re already standing your wife up?” I call out as I make my way over to Negan._ _

__He turns towards me then, my statement giving away my presence. Negan doesn’t respond to my words, though I see him glance down at the cigarette in his hand; even behind his dark sunglasses, I perceive the subtle look of guilt. Not bothering to comment on the unhealthy habit, I grab Negan’s hand and gently slip the cigarette from between his fingers. On a nearby table sits a mostly empty glass of what I assume is whiskey, the melted ice diluting the liquor to a pale brown. I lift the glass and crush the cigarette into the alcohol, effectively dousing it._ _

__“Everything okay?” I prod tenderly, placing the tumbler back on the small table._ _

__“Not really,” Negan huffs._ _

__“Tell me,” I demand, grasping his arm and pushing him into one of the comfortable lounge chairs on the pool deck. I follow suit, landing softly in his lap as I curl my hand around the back of his neck to massage my fingers into his scalp._ _

__“I’ve been working my ass off for the past year building this place and getting shit lined up. I just want it to go right,” he grunts tiredly._ _

__“Hey,” I whisper, prompting his to meet my gaze. “You’ve done everything you can to make it perfect, Negan. It’s gonna go smoothly.”_ _

__He sighs in agitation, turning away from me once more before responding. “No, it won’t,” he retorts, leaning forward to grab a slightly crumpled newspaper from the nearby table._ _

__Negan drops the thick paper into my lap, watching my reaction as I lift the black and white stack. I read the headline and immediately feel my whole body tense at the bold, black text. Right there splashed across the front page is a story detailing Negan’s seedy past and suspected involvement with notorious murderers and criminals. _Who the fuck wrote this and where did they even get their information? _Every printed word pitted against my husband sets my teeth on edge and ignites flames of rage throughout my body. _We just can’t catch a break, can we?_ ___ _

__“They can shove this up their asses,” I blurt out, slapping the offensive paper onto the ground beneath me. “They can publish whatever shit they want about you, this place is still going to be successful. As far as anyone knows, this is all just speculation,” I assure Negan, pointing a finger at the discarded article. While a lot of the accusations are fairly accurate, the author of this slander clearly has no evidence to back their knowledge of Negan’s past. “If any of that garbage could be proven, you’d already be locked up. People are gonna realize that, Negan. A couple of rumors coming from some desperate, lowlife intern at some mediocre media outlet isn’t going to put us out of business.”_ _

__Negan stares at me for a long moment, his face expressionless as he processes my words. “Since when are you the calm and logical one out of us?” he wonders blandly._ _

__I slap his chest, rolling my eyes at his comment. “Keep it up and I’ll hand deliver the necessary evidence to that overzealous little paperboy,” I jest, though I regret the words before they even finish leaving my mouth. _Foot-in-mouth disease strikes again, nice going, Izzie._ _ _

__Negan’s gaze hardens and his whole body flinches beneath me. “Do _not_ fuckin’ joke about that,” he snarls dangerously, his irate tone only serving to further my regret. _ _

__I take his words seriously, instantly wiping the smirk off my face as I wrap my arms around Negan’s neck. I mumble against his warm skin, apologizing profusely for my stupid remark. Considering what we’ve been through lately – Negan especially, cracking jokes about ratting on him is the last thing he needs right now. I mentally scold myself for being an idiot and even bringing it up, though I move past my faux pas swiftly when I finally feel Negan relax in my arms._ _

__“Look…” I mutter a bit awkwardly, getting Negan’s attention. “We can take anything these motherfuckers wanna throw at us. They can’t get to us anymore. I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”_ _

__“Promise?” he murmurs, a smile finally starting to lift his pink lips._ _

__“Always,” I chirp happily. “Now get back inside, this place isn’t gonna run itself.”_ _

__Negan growls playfully in my ear as he stands and eases me from his lap. We share a short but heated kiss before he leaves my side, quickly making his way back into the hotel. I watch him depart, making sure he’s out of sight before I crouch down and pick up the forgotten newspaper. I note the name of the writer, knowing it’s likely a pseudonym though I intend to find the source of the article._ _


	66. Rattlesnake Shake

The chiming of the doorbell prompts me to remove myself from Negan’s arms, something that is met with a deep groan of protest from him. I stride purposefully out of the kitchen and over to the front door, opening it to reveal my expected guest. Joe Colombo greets me with his thick New York accent, adjusting the thick folder in his hand as he enters my home.

“Joe,” Negan greets succinctly from behind me, offering a slight nod to the young man. 

Joe and I make our way to the kitchen while Negan excuses himself to attend to some other business I don’t bother asking about. I offer him a drink while he spreads out the file of papers across the marbled countertop. 

“Whaddya got for me?” I wonder aloud, handing off a glass of water. 

I listen intently as Joe details his meticulous research and determination to uncover the information I’ve requested from him. Since seeing the horrible article some mystery author had penned to tarnish Negan’s name, I’ve been determined to locate the person responsible for it. Knowing Joe’s lack of notoriety, I knew he was going to be my best option for help – he has all the right connections with none of the infamy Tommy or Negan have. Based on the collection of documents he’s brought with him, I surmise my prediction had been spot on and Joe hasn’t disappointed in delivering his aid. 

“Okay,” he begins, clapping his hands together loudly. “So obviously the name attached to the article is an alias, however I paid the newspaper a visit and I was able to find the guy who published it. Some snot-nosed little kid trying to make his big break with a controversial story. Here’s the thing though, he didn’t get his insider info from just anywhere,” Joe points out. “Had to rough him up a bit, but I got it out of him eventually.” 

Leaning closer in interest, I wait for Joe to continue. He reaches out, sliding a somewhat grainy photograph across the counter towards me. I lift the picture, observing the dark-haired woman it depicts. The date imposed in the corner of the photo indicates that it is a few years old, though I imagine not old enough that this woman can look much different presently. 

“Who is this?” I question, glancing up at Joe. 

“That…is Veronica. Our _persona non grata_ ,” Joe offers. “This is our source." 

"Really?” I ask in astonishment, looking at the picture once more. “Who is she? How does she know anything about Negan?” 

Joe straightens up, bracing his palms on the surface in front of him. “She was Lucky’s, uh, mistress…so to speak,” Joe mutters. “You know what that means, right, Izzie?” he implores, pausing momentarily before answering his own question. “She’s untouchable. Lucky is dead, but that doesn’t mean his women aren’t still protected. _Especially_ since…someone…took him out. We can’t do _shit_ to her.” 

I sigh loudly at Joe’s revelation. _Now what the fuck do I do?_ Going after the Families was risky enough, any remaining members of the mafia are going to be on alert and extra protective over their associates and loved ones. It’s a lost cause at this point. 

“So how do we handle this?” I ask bitterly. 

“Not much we _can_ do. We’ll never get close enough to talk to her, let alone do anything to her,” Joe responds, shaking his head. “Best we can do is try to stop any of the papers from getting ahold of any dirt on Negan and make sure they don’t publish it. In the meantime, I’ll dig into her and see what I can find out about her. Kid at the newspaper was a good start, but she approached him and gave him what she needed to in order to get our attention, so he won’t know anything beyond what was already in that article. She’s too smart to use him again, I’ll just have to get to the rest of the newspapers before she does and make them a better offer than she can.” 

I sigh heavily, dragging a hand down my face as I consider Joe’s words. No matter how hard we try to intervene, it’s nearly impossible to control what the newspapers publish. One way or another, someone is going to get _something_ out there about Negan. The only thing we can hope is that no one ever gets their hands on evidence to prove the rumors they churn out. If this mysterious Veronica chick decides to up her game and really come for Negan, we’re royally screwed. 

“Okay, thanks Joe,” I mutter, sliding the photograph back towards him as I dismiss him. 

Gathering up his papers, Joe tucks the folder under his arm and turns back to me before exiting the room. “We lettin’ Negan in on any of this, or is this a secret mission?” he wonders with a smile. 

“Top secret,” I laugh, bidding Joe farewell before seeking out my husband. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

My long, black gown swishes breezily around my ankles as I glide to and from the bathroom, adding some last minute touches to my appearance. From inside our bedroom, I can hear Negan banging around in the closet as he too dresses himself in preparation for the party we are attending tonight. Following the grand opening of Negan’s magnificent resort, we’ve invited some of his close friends and family to celebrate our success. 

I slick some red lipstick across my plush lips and touch up my smoky eyeshadow, taking one final look at my done-up face before joining Negan in the bedroom. I find him seated on the edge of our bed, tying the laces on his shiny black shoes as he glances up at me. I grab a pair of tall stiletto heels and bend over to slip my feet into the strappy shoes. A pressure around my hips and against my backside catches my attention along with the low, deep groan emanating from Negan as he presses against me. 

“Goddamn, you look fuckin’ cock-hardeningly gorgeous tonight,” he growls as he pulls me up to press my bare back against his chest. His fingers trail along the low back of my dress, dipping beneath the edge to trace the waistband of my lace thong. “What I wouldn’t give to bend you over and fuck you raw all night.” 

I gasp at Negan’s raunchy words, letting my eyes fall shut as I tip my head back against his shoulder. His breath wanders over my bare shoulder just before he places several open-mouthed kisses against the warm skin. I grip my hands against his firm thighs as I grind my hips gently into his, prompting him to pull away and spin me around to face him. 

“As much as it kills me and my dick to say no, we’re already fuckin’ late,” he laments as his darkened eyes scan over me. “Let’s get this damn party out of the way so I can bring you home and spend some quality time with that tight little pussy.” 

A despaired groan escapes my throat as Negan continues to tease me with his deeply spoken words. I glance up at him and bite my lower lip, knowing how much the action turns him on. His only response is to shake his head in disapproval while he steps closer to me and gently wraps a large hand around my throat. 

“Negan, _please_ ,” I whimper as he uses his grip to pull me closer and press his lips to my ear. 

“Come on now. Be a good girl, or Daddy is gonna have to punish you,” he warns darkly. 

In response to Negan’s threat – which is exactly what I’d been hoping for, I reach a hand out to grab his half-hard erection through his dark slacks. Negan groans loudly, opening his mouth to bite my ear lobe sharply. Both of us begin to breathe heavily as I massage his cock gently, smiling to myself as I feel him growing harder in my palm. 

“I want your big cock, Daddy,” I purr, lifting my lips to Negan’s ear as I whisper the words. 

“Oh, you’re gonna get it, you filthy little girl,” Negan barks, pressing his hands against my shoulders. “Get on your knees.” 

I obey immediately, dropping to the ground at Negan’s feet. I swivel my hips, squirming impatiently as I watch him tear his belt open and lower the zipper on his pants. Slapping his hands out of the way, I yank his pants down his thighs and quickly lower his boxers, watching in excitement as I free his bobbing erection. I lick my lips and shift forward before Negan takes a harsh grip on my jaw and forces me to look up at him. 

“Beg for it, Isabella,” he demands, his eyes nearly black and his stare piercing. 

“Please, Daddy,” I whine instantly. “Please let me suck your dick, I want it so bad. I wanna taste you.” 

Using his thumb, Negan pries my mouth open widely. I look up at him with innocent eyes as he leans over me, pulling my jaw open even wider as he bends at the waist to spit into my mouth. I moan softly, holding Negan’s gaze as he pulls my face towards his crotch. 

“I’m gonna fuck your pretty mouth, baby,” he promises as he stands to his full height and shoves his throbbing length all the way into my mouth. “It’s a shame you put so much effort into your makeup because I’m about to fuckin’ ruin it.” 

I gag slightly as Negan thrusts his hips, pounding the back of my throat with the head of his cock. My saliva coats his length and slips down my chin as my eyes begin to water and tears stream down my cheeks. My eyes remain on Negan’s as he takes my mouth brutally, keeping a tight grip on the back of my head as he sets a punishing rhythm. Within a few minutes, Negan cums down my throat, making me cough and choke a bit as I swallow every bit of his seed. 

I reach for his hip, dragging my nails across the skin and down his thigh, earning a pleasured moan from my husband in the process. The spurts of his release finally cease and I swallow a final time. I hollow my cheeks and slide my lips from the base of Negan’s member to the tip, sucking gently. I swirl my tongue gently around his cockhead before releasing him with a wet pop and licking my lips lasciviously. Glancing down at his softening length, I smile proudly at the red streaks of my lipstick staining his dick. _I can only imagine what a state my makeup is in now_. 

Negan crouches down in front of me, massaging the back of my head as I try to catch my breath. He swipes his thumb under my lower lip, smearing the residual spit and what I assume is a mess of lipstick from my chin. Giving me a look of adoration, he tilts my chin slightly and lifts an eyebrow, silently letting me know what he’s expecting. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” I rasp, my throat sore from his roughness. 

Negan drags a finger across my cheekbone now, sweeping up the black tear tracks covering the skin there. “You’re welcome, Princess,” he whispers with a wink before standing up and pulling me to my feet. 

He adjusts his clothes, making himself look presentable once more before pulling me into the bathroom behind him. Lifting me onto the countertop, Negan grabs a small hand towel and wets it with some warm water before turning to me. 

“Sorry about that,” he murmurs, his grin contradicting his blatantly disingenuous apology as he wipes gingerly at my face with the towel. 

“Are you trying to take off my makeup or my skin?” I tease airily as Negan roughly dabs at my face. 

I squeal loudly when he reaches down to pinch the side of my ass and reprimand me for my comment. Pouting my lips, I whine dramatically about how much it hurt. Negan immediately slides a hand up the long slit along the side of my dress, rubbing his fingers along the sore skin and making me wiggle beneath his touch. 

“Do you want me to kiss it and make it better?” he breathes. 

“Yes,” I agree enthusiastically, spreading my thighs a bit in invitation. 

Negan chuckles darkly in response, moving his warm palm further up my thigh and closer to my core. My breath hitches as his fingers rub enticingly close to where I want them and I lift my hips, desperately attempting to tempt Negan’s hand closer to my wet heat. He watches me closely, purposely teasing me and refusing to give me what I want. I whine loudly, daring to reach out and grab his wrist and pull his hand over my lace-covered mound. 

“Is that what you want?” Negan grunts, pressing his fingers more firmly against my damp panties. 

“Negan, please. I wanna cum,” I grind out. 

“I don’t think so,” he counters cruelly, already starting to pull his hand away from my body. 

I nearly scream at the loss of contact, reaching out to snatch Negan’s hand and pull him back towards me. Replacing his hand between my thighs, I wrap my other arm around his neck and press my breasts against his chest as I cover his jaw and neck in feverish kisses. 

“Please make me cum, Daddy,” I beg pathetically. 

“ _No_ ,” he stage-whispers, stepping away from me once more. “You’ve been a bad girl and bad girls don’t get to cum. Besides, we’re already late, so get your ass moving.” 

“Negan,” I cry, dragging out each syllable of his name. “That’s not fair!” 

My complaint is met only with a stern look and a single finger pointed in warning. With that, Negan exits the bathroom, leaving me dripping wet and desperate atop the countertop. I briefly consider getting myself off just to stick it to Negan, but I know we don’t have the time for that. _Not to mention the punishment I’d have to deal with_. I hop off the wide vanity and sigh at my reflection in the mirror. I look less like a water-logged clown thanks to Negan’s attempt to clean me up, but my perfected makeup is ruined and mostly gone, and I don’t have the time to fix it. I wipe the damp towel over any remaining smudges of makeup before joining my husband and preparing myself for showing up fashionably late to our own party.


	67. I Put A Spell On You

Our guests are nearly an hour into waiting for us when we finally make our arrival at the Miramar Playa. We apologize profusely to everyone already celebrating before taking our place near the entry of the luxurious ballroom to greet any new guests coming in. Standing at Negan’s side, my earlier arousal has quickly fizzled and been replaced with a bout of nerves. As much as we’ve been through together, I’m still not well integrated into Negan’s inner circle and meeting his close friends and associates still makes me quite anxious.

Negan presses a gentle kiss to my temple and whispers some words of reassurance as more guests begin to filter in. I’m introduced to one person after another, greeting them each politely as I stand beside Negan while he shares a short chat with everyone. With no one to hold a conversation with, I merely listen to Negan talk as I glance around the beautifully decorated room around us. 

Strings of glowing, golden lights dangle from every wall and the room is filled with tables draped in silky white cloth; it’s simple yet elegant. The 5-piece band playing softly from the corner really sets the ambiance of the party as everyone mingles within the room. 

“Hey, kiddo,” a voice calls as I feel a hand wrap around my forearm. 

My face lights up immediately when my eyes land on Tommy. We share a warm embrace before he pulls away and his wife, Carly, wraps me in her arms. At her side, I spot two dark-haired children whose resemblance to the people in front of me is uncanny. 

“This is Marco and Gia,” Carly offers with a smile, placing a hand atop the head of each child. 

I tilt at the waist, offering my hand to the adorable little girl first, then the boy, introducing myself. Each child greets me with a shy smile before clinging to their mother’s legs and trying their best to shield themselves behind her. I laugh softly to myself at their timid behavior as Carly and I spend some time catching up while Negan and Tommy discuss something in a low tone. Before long, they hug one another and Negan turns his attention to the children still wrapped around Carly’s legs. 

“Hey, you little rugrats!” he calls loudly, crouching down and grinning as the two children immediately leap into his arms. 

“Uncle Negan!” they cry in unison, threading their arms around his neck. 

Negan laughs heartily, standing up and lifting both children effortlessly. He places a kiss on each of their noses before whispering playfully to them, making them giggle as he interacts with them. A knot forms in my throat as I watch my husband look adoringly at the two children as he showers them in loving attention; he’s ecstatic, practically glowing as he cradles them. 

A suffocating pressure weighs on my chest and it hits me like a speeding train that I’ll never be able to give that to him. I blink my eyes rapidly, chasing away the gathering tears before I make a fool of myself. Mercifully, Tommy and Carly choose that moment to move along, taking their precious children with them. _Out of sight, out of mind_ , I muse to myself, trying to push the image of Negan with the kids from the forefront of my mind. 

Noticing something off about my mood, Negan takes my hand in his and gives it a tight squeeze. I return the gesture and force a smile to lift my red-stained lips. When Negan offers me a saucy grin and a heated wink, I feel a seeping heat and wetness forming between my thighs, amazed how quickly and enthusiastically my body responds to him still. He takes my pink cheeks as a good sign and promptly turns his attention to the next person making their way into the party. Much to my chagrin, this person is toting a small child as well. 

My eyes are glued to the beautiful blonde girl and it takes me a long moment to slide my eyes upward to the woman whose hand she clutches. Something about the woman is familiar, though I can’t quite put my finger on what it is. Her body is frightfully thin and her face is gaunt – skeletal even. Wiry, brittle blonde hair surrounds a visage that boasts a sharp nose and prominent cheekbones. Deep circles surround her eyes, which are suspiciously devoid of any light. Beneath the frailty of her appearance, I can almost see where her daughter had inherited her good looks from, unfortunately this woman’s days of looking young and beautiful are long past. 

As I’m finishing my perusal of the approaching woman, I feel the moment Negan recognizes her. His whole body tenses beside me and he sucks in a sharp breath. Whether his reaction is one of shock or anger, I’m not quite sure. I steal a glance in his direction, but his face gives away nothing as he produces a tight-lipped smile and juts his hands out in the direction of the woman. 

“So nice to see you, Negan,” she purrs in a smooth voice, promptly ignoring Negan’s proffered hand and instead pulling him into an intimate embrace. 

I school my face into a blank expression, trying not to flinch when the woman places a kiss on each of Negan’s cheeks. The task proves to be a difficult one as she trails her manicured fingers across his collarbone and down to his chest where she lets her hand rest. The longer her hand lingers there, the more uncomfortable and bothered I become. 

My discomfort increases tenfold when – much like with Tommy’s children – Negan greets the little girl in front of him with incredible enthusiasm. He takes her tiny hand in his, kissing her knuckles and then her forehead. The little girl blushes fiercely as she fiddles with the hem of her dress and nervously adjusts the cute white hat atop her head. I find myself giggling as I can relate to the reaction to Negan’s charming personality. 

I watch Negan speak briefly with the girl, enjoying the tender moment before her mother steps close to Negan and places her hand on his shoulder. Something primitive in me wants to launch myself at her and tear her bony arm right off her body, but I manage to calm my boiling blood to a manageable level. Negan must sense my shifting mood because he quickly stands, leans over to mumble something to the woman, and sends her on her way. I try not to act like a petty, jealous little girl, but I find myself increasingly suspicious of this woman’s past and connection to Negan. 

Taking advantage of a lull in the new arrivals, I grab Negan’s attention to excuse myself. I head directly for the bar, greeting the bartender shortly and demanding a glass of champagne. I grab the fluted glass from the bartender’s hand before he even has a chance to place it on the bar, instantly downing half the bubbly liquid in a single gulp. The young man glances at me with a knowing smirk and I merely roll my eyes playfully. I feel someone slide up next to me, relieved to find that it’s only Tommy. I spin around, pressing my back against the bar, but before I can open my mouth to speak to Tommy, my eyes land upon a disagreeable sight. 

Across the ballroom, I spot Negan speaking intensely with someone. That someone just happens to be the blonde woman from earlier. _She really wasted no time moving in on him_. I barely suppress a growl as I watch the flirtatious way she moves and speaks, doing all she can to capture Negan’s attention. While his face seems relaxed and friendly, his body language screams how uncomfortable he is. I’m not sure I want to know the reason he seems so tense around this woman, but one thing I do know is that I want to make _damn_ sure she knows that I don’t appreciate her intense interest in _my_ husband. 

From beside me, Tommy chuckles lowly and clears his throat to get my attention. It’s obvious that I’m not happy with Negan’s interaction, and apparently it’s something Tommy finds entertaining. I slap his chest playfully, forcing myself to look away from the the woman forcing herself on Negan. 

“Who is she?” I ask bluntly, staring Tommy straight in the eye. 

He shrugs slightly, taking a sip of his own drink. “Just some broad,” he offers. “She doesn’t mean anything to Negan, if that’s what you’re worried about. She’s just an old friend or someone he used to know, that’s it. I’d know if it ever went beyond that.” 

I nod at Tommy’s words, accepting them as truth and feeling at least a little bit better that perhaps this woman isn’t going to be a problem. Regardless of whether or not she’s a homewrecker, I need this woman to see that her pursuit of Negan is a waste of time – he’s _mine_. Reaching out, I grab Tommy’s shoulders and position him directly in front of me. I use his larger frame to my advantage as his form blocks me from the view of the other party-goers. Tommy’s expression is one of confusion and when I drop my hands to the slits in my dress and begin to hike it up, his face fills with bewilderment. 

“What the hell are you doing, honey?” he scoffs with an uneasy laugh. 

I don’t immediately respond to Tommy’s question as I shift smoothly, instead letting my piercing gaze remain on the blonde woman across the room. The sound of Tommy’s fingers snapping in front of my face finally gets my attention and I turn towards him. He looks at me and lifts his arms, still awaiting my answer to his question. I smile coldly as I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my lace panties and bend at the waist to slide them down my legs and over my feet. Tommy’s mouth pops open in disbelief of my bold action as I straighten up and look him in the eyes with a purposeful glare. 

“I’m marking my territory,” I bark heatedly as I stride past Tommy, brushing his shoulder as I pass by and he mutters something about me being insane. 

My heels clack loudly as I practically stomp across the dimly lit room with my slightly damp panties balled up in my fist. I weave in and out of the throngs of people, smiling kindly to anyone who looks my way. My possessive indignation and jealousy seem to swell as I close the distance between myself and the conversing pair I’m moving towards. With one last deep breath, I reach Negan, grabbing for his elbow in order to get his attention. He stops speaking mid-sentence and glances down at me questioningly. Standing on my toes, I immediately press my lips against his in a forceful but short kiss. I move my lips to his ear as I press my panties firmly into his palm. 

“I’ll be in the bathroom outside the lobby,” I whisper demurely. 

Paying no attention to the woman next to me – who I imagine is looking on in annoyance – I take a step back to watch Negan’s reaction. He furrows his brow a bit before looking down as he unfurls his fingers and observes the soft object I’ve placed in his hand. The bundle of lace unfurls in his hand and the moment Negan registers what he’s holding, he snatches his hand shut and whips his eyes back up to mine. By the time our eyes meet, I’m already backing away, shooting Negan a sly look before twirling around and slipping out of the room. 

As I pace down the hall and through the door of the ladies room, my heart pounds erratically. My behavior had required more confidence and boldness than I knew I possessed and though it had been exhilarating, I’m slightly nervous for Negan’s reaction. _Is he even gonna follow me out here? Is he angry? Or maybe so turned on he’ll burst through that door and take me without saying a single word?_ My thoughts are interrupted by the raucous slamming of the door I’d just come through. 

Whipping around, I gasp at the sight of Negan in the doorway – eyes coal black and jaw tight as he pants through clenched teeth. I swallow thickly, my whole body instantly on fire and the walls feeling as though they’re closing in on me. I can feel my hands shake with nerves and my thighs quiver in anticipation. Negan looks more threatening than I’ve ever seen him, though somehow the mere visual already has my arousal trailing down my thighs. I chance a look at his pants, pleased to find that he’s already visibly hard, clearly as aroused as I am with the situation we find ourselves in. 

“C'mere,” Negan whispers lowly, crooking two fingers at me. 

I don’t respond in any capacity – neither obeying nor denying his request, merely standing motionless in front of him. Negan chuckles darkly at my defiance and I know I’m only adding to the punishment I likely have coming. _Go big or go home_. My lack of movement prompts Negan to pounce, hastily trapping me in his strong grip and pushing me roughly against the floor length mirror hanging against the wall. I cry out when my bare back presses to the icy surface of the glass, though Negan pays no mind to the sound as he pushes most of his weight against me. 

We hold each other’s eyes in a standoff, a challenge. I refuse to give in and feel a sense of victory when Negan lowers himself, tilting his head to capture my lips in a consuming kiss. Our tongues dance together, warm and wet as we devour one another’s mouth. Negan continues ravishing my mouth as he reaches for my breasts, using his thumbs to massage my nipples through the thin material. While the sensation feels incredible, I’m too keyed up for foreplay and I let Negan know as much. 

“Don’t bother with that,” I whimper, pushing his hands away as he pulls his mouth from mine with a slick pop. “I’m already dripping wet for you, Negan. I need you inside me, just fuck me.” 

Negan leans away from me with a shocked but pleased expression as he bites his swollen lower lip. “Jesus Christ, you’ve got a dirty mouth on you, darlin’. Guess I’m rubbin’ off on you,” he chuckles. 

“I’d prefer it if you were rubbing _up_ on me,” I mewl, pressing my hips forward to grind wantonly against Negan’s growing hardness. 

“Shit, I don’t know what’s goin’ on with you, but goddamn I am _loving_ this horny little thing you’ve turned into. You’re wearin’ me out,” he grunts as he grips my hips and pushes his erection into my pelvis. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were…” 

Negan’s statement trails off and fades into silence as he realizes the impossibility of his assumption. It makes my whole body flinch as if he’s physically slapped me. An odd tension and awkward silence swirls around us as I know straightaway what Negan was about to say. His mistake and proceeding failed attempt to stop the blurted thought acts like a vat of ice water being tossed over the steaminess that had been building between us. 

I shift my eyes anxiously, forcing a strained smile onto my face as my mind reels. It’s obvious Negan briefly believed my hormonal spike is a result of me being pregnant – a reasonable conclusion if not for the fact that it isn’t possible for me. My inability to bear children has never been something I spent much time dwelling on, but being faced with that fact _twice_ in one night isn’t something I was quite ready for. Tears prick my eyes once more and I turn my head to the side, not wanting Negan to see me cry because of something he almost said. 

Attempting to salvage the mood, Negan grips my chin, turning my face back towards him. He presses his lips to mine once more, kissing me feverishly as he pulls our bodies together. I’m thankful for how quickly Negan moves past the unpleasant moment, but I find myself struggling to dedicate all my attention to what we’re doing. Negan’s hands slip up and down over my body and I writhe against him, though I feel like I’m on autopilot – still caught up in my own head. 

Negan pulls me out of my musings when he flips me around and crushes my chest up against the mirror. My palms slap loudly against the silver surface and my hot puffs of breath fog up the smooth glass. I moan loudly when Negan grinds his erection into me from behind; even through our layers of clothing, the sensation of his hard length pressing into my core sends bolts of electricity all the way to my toes and fingertips. 

“I want you to remember how much I love you,” Negan growls in my ear as he takes a tight grip around my delicate throat. “Because I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.” 

My breaths are shaky and raspy as I try to suck air into my lungs past the strong fingers applying pressure to my windpipe. More moisture floods from my body and slithers along my shaking thighs as Negan takes complete control of my body. Using the hand around my throat, he shoves his thumb between my lips, instructing me to suck it. I obey, swirling my tongue around the digit as I swivel my hips into Negan. 

He reaches up under my dress, sweeping his finger across my folds with the lightest of touches. I whine in frustration at Negan’s teasing, doing all I can to force him to press more firmly against my needy pussy. He pulls away and smacks my ass harshly, a silent command to be patient and take only what I’m given. When Negan grips my dress and yanks it harshly over my backside, I hear the seams pop as they rip slightly. 

“Don’t ruin my dress,” I complain, unable to bite my tongue as Negan manhandles me. 

My words are met with swift punishment as Negan slaps my already sore ass several times in quick succession. “Shut up, Isabella. Not another word out of you. Do you understand?” 

I simper at Negan’s booming, dominant demand, nodding my head in response to his words. I cry out when he uses his grip on my neck to wrench my body backwards against his chest. He lets me breathe only enough to remain conscious and the utter lack of control has a blazing fire of arousal and submission burning through every inch of my body. 

Negan steps backwards, moving us away from the mirror before he bends me over the sink, directly in front of the smaller mirror hanging over the counter. He reaches between my thighs, immediately plunging two fingers into my drenched hole and wreaking havoc on my body with his skilled hands. I bend further forward, pressing my forehead to my arms on the countertop, but Negan quickly wraps a hand through my hair and forces me to lift my head. 

“Look at me,” he snarls, meeting my eyes in the mirror in front of us. My scalp burns as he uses steady pressure to keep my head up. “I want you to see everything I do to you.” 

A pained moaned escapes my parted lips as Negan continues pumping his long fingers in and out of my body. I pant heavily as my orgasm approaches swiftly and I begin to vibrate all over. Through the lusty fog clouding my head, I hear Negan’s deeply growled words of encouragement, urging me to let go. All of my muscles tense as the dam bursts and my body is flooded with my release and I coat Negan’s hand in my juices. I can hear my wetness as he pummels my body relentlessly, working me through my intense climax. Just as the stimulation gets to be too much, Negan slides his hand from between my weak legs. 

I watch him in the mirror as he picks up a hand towel from the counter to dry his dripping hand, holding my gaze the entire time. He continues to stare at my reflection as he unbuckles his belt and lowers his zipper. I can’t help the needy moan I unleash or the restless movement of my hips as I anticipate Negan’s thorough use of my body. He smirks knowingly at me as he lowers his pants and underwear before kicking my feet apart and placing himself directly behind me. 

“Now _that_ is a motherfuckin’ sight,” he praises as he spreads me, observing my sodden folds with rapture. 

“Negan,” I murmur before promptly being cut off by yet another series of stinging spanks across my ass. 

“Ah ah ah, quiet baby,” he reprimands gently. 

With that, Negan steps closer to me, using his fist to guide his throbbing length towards my awaiting center. The second the hot head of his cock makes contact with my slippery flesh, I let out a keening wail. My desperate sound prompts Negan to follow through with his movement, angling his hips to seat himself fully in my heated channel. We moan simultaneously at the sensation and I dare not move as I revel in the delicious pulsing of Negan’s solid, swollen flesh. When Negan slaps my ass once more, my body clenches tightly around his cock and the sound of my gasp is drowned out by his guttural groan. 

Deciding he’s done torturing himself, Negan folds his towering body over me, blanketing my small form as he rests an elbow on the counter beside me. He pulls his hips back slowly, then thrusts sharply, slamming himself into my body. The coarse hair at the base of his thick cock rubs tantalizingly against my clit and I feel myself racing towards another release. My hands claw uselessly at the slick surface of the marble countertop and Negan reacts positively to my feverish squirming. He threads an arm around my waist and holds me tightly, refusing to let me escape the punishing drive of his hips. 

Negan wraps a large hand around my throat again, holding me in place as he starts to fuck me brutally. My eyes roll backwards at his carnal thrusting, and I’m left with no choice but to hold on for the ride. Our combined noises of pleasure echo through the room, bouncing off the walls and mingling with the lewd sounds of our bodies slamming together. I can tell Negan is close to losing control when his rhythm falters and his grip tightens almost painfully around my throat. 

With his free hand, he grabs my thigh harshly and lifts it onto the counter, opening me up to him more fully. Before he starts moving again, Negan slaps his palm against my cunt, catching my sensitive clit and ripping a scream from me. He pistons his hips with jarring force, rattling every bone in my body as he fills my pussy to the brim over and over. I squeeze my eyes shut at the unbearable stimulation, tears leaking down my cheeks as my throat begins to burn from all my enthusiastic wails and screams. 

“Watch yourself, watch _us_ ,” Negan barks, using his hold around my neck to give my body a firm shake. I immediately pry my eyes open, blinking through the tears to study the pornographic display in the reflection. “I want you to take in every second of this. See how I ruin you, tear you apart, possess you and your body. Who do you belong to, babygirl?” 

Negan’s words had grown gradually darker and louder so that his final statement is practically yelled in my ear. “You, sir. I’m all yours,” I manage to choke out on a sob as I feel a powerful orgasm taking over my body. 

“I can’t decide if I wanna fill you full of my cum or cover you in it,” Negan growls dirtily, biting the sensitive flesh of my neck between every few words. “I love watching it drip off your beautiful skin…marking you…reminding you who owns you. What do you think, baby? You want Daddy’s hot load inside you, huh?” 

“God, yes. I want all of it, please,” I beg, my voice too loud for the small space though I’m beyond caring about keeping quiet at this point. 

My plea sets Negan off and he fucks me with unimaginable speed and force, setting every nerve ending in my body aflame. I wail pitifully, unable to hold on any longer as a crippling orgasm rocks my body and the single leg I stand on gives out. Negan quickly catches me, bracing both hands on the backs of my thighs as he lifts me entirely into his arms and against his chest, spreading me open as he holds me so my knees are nearly beside my ears. 

Supporting my whole weight, Negan lifts me up and down his swelling dick, racing towards his own climax. With a throaty howl, I feel Negan explode within me, coating my walls with his release as his chest rises and falls rapidly against my back. He continues to cum forcefully, filling me full until his seed begins to leak from my body and drip down the underside of his cock. 

Too weak to hold me any longer, Negan drops my feet to the ground and I catch myself on the edge of the counter. I sprawl limply across the surface as Negan collapses on top of me, crushing my hipbones painfully into the edge of the surface. I don’t bother moving or trying to remove Negan’s weight from my body as I attempt to catch my breath and recover from our explosive coupling. As Negan softens slightly, his cock slips from within me, followed by the thick flow of his sperm. I moan tiredly at the sensation of his warm seed leaving my body and dripping slowly down my legs. 

“Fuck, I love watching my cum ooze out of that perfect pussy,” Negan groans tightly. “You love the way it feels, don’t you, you filthy girl?” 

I jump in surprise when his fingers trace up my thigh and towards my center, collecting the trail of sticky white fluid. Due to how sensitive I am, the touch of Negan’s dexterous fingers against my well-used pussy causes me to twist away from the contact, but Negan is relentless and plunges his fingers into my dripping hole. He drags his fingers under my lifted and disheveled dress, rubbing his wet fingers across my abdomen. After a few seconds, he removes his hand before leaning over me to smear our combined fluids across my lips. I obey his command to clean his fingers straightaway, peering over my shoulder to look him in the eyes as I do it. 

“You’re a _bad_ girl, but you’re so fuckin’ good at it,” Negan proclaims, clicking his tongue playfully as he watches my filthy display. 

“I’m _your_ bad girl,” I offer sweetly as I make sure to gather every bit of cum Negan has smeared across my lips. 

Negan finally lets me up, taking a step back as I drop the hem of my dress over my reddened ass and turn around to lean my backside against the counter with my hands offering additional support to my worn body. “That you are, sweetheart, that you are,” he agrees as he reaches for something in his pocket. 

I bite my lip nervously when Negan pulls out my lacy underwear from within his suit jacket. He unfolds the fabric and regards me with a scolding look as he closes the space between us. Moving towards me, he presses a hand between my wet thighs, spreading them apart as he lifts my dress and uses my panties to soak up the drying cum on my skin. When he’s finished, Negan cleans himself up before stuffing his soft length back into his pants and adjusting his suit. We snort in laughter at one another, realizing that our rumpled appearances are impossible to fix and are going to be a dead giveaway as to what we’ve been up to. 

“I’m keeping these,” he announces, shoving the now soiled panties into his pants pocket with a salicious grin. “C'mon,” he commands, offering a hand to me as he takes a step towards the door. 

“Wait,” I call, using my thumb to wipe away the remnants of my lipstick that stain the corners of Negan’s mouth. “As much as I love seeing you a mess because of me, I don’t think our guests will share my opinion. Besides, this isn’t your shade,” I joke. 

“You take such good care of me,” Negan taunts, though I can tell he means it. 

I smile slightly at him as I make sure his face is lipstick free. With the air settled around us, I feel the tension of Negan’s earlier slip up returning. We share a lengthy look, neither one of us brave enough to acknowledge the elephant in the room. I can see in Negan’s tawny eyes that he regrets the genuine mistake and I desperately want to assure him that it isn’t a big deal and all is forgiven. However, I can’t seem to bring myself to voice the words. Talking about it is just going to make the situation too real for me and I don’t want to ruin our night of celebration. 

Taking Negan’s hand, we walk slowly back to the ballroom and rejoin our guests. _We’re such horrible hosts_ , I think to myself, though few people seem to notice that we had even disappeared. I urge Negan to go off on his own and socialize with his friends, assuring him that I’ll be fine on my own. Surprisingly enough, he listens and makes his way into the crowd while I sit down at a table with Carly, settling into an easy conversation as we watch the party going on around us. 

Before long, the party is coming to an end and everyone in attendance is at least some level of inebriated, myself included. Meeting Negan’s eyes across the ballroom, he nods and signals to me that he’s ready to leave. I wobble only slightly as I stand up, offering my goodbyes to Tommy and Carly as I walk towards Negan. The moment I’m by his side I can smell the aroma of whiskey rolling off of him and I know he’s far more drunk than I am. When he turns to me with glassy eyes and a goofy smile, it only confirms my suspicions. 

“Well well, hello there beautiful,” he slurs excitedly, throwing an arm around my waist. 

I laugh lightly when Negan buries his scruffy face against my neck, tickling me as he lands sloppy, wet kisses all over the skin there. He starts to move his mouth towards my chest, tucking his fingers into the neckline of my dress and pulling down, revealing way more cleavage than is appropriate. I push Negan away with a tipsy giggle, impeding his wandering hands and dragging him out of the room into the hallway. 

“You are so so _sooo_ pretty,” Negan drags out, practically giggling to himself. “I just love you so gosh dang much.” 

His ridiculous behavior sends me into yet another fit of giggles as I force him out of the hotel and towards the parking lot, hoping to prevent anyone from seeing him in this state. Unfortunately, when I step outside, there’s a small group of people standing on the sidewalk, waiting for taxis. One of the people turns around and I recognize the blonde woman from earlier in the night. Even in my drunken state, the sight of the woman sets me on edge and I direct Negan’s stumbling steps further down the sidewalk. The moment we pass the tall blonde, she dares to open her mouth and I consider dropping my drunken husband to knock her teeth down her throat. 

“Goodnight, Negan,” she offers in a tinkling, teasing and sweet voice that practically rots my teeth. 

“G'night, Veronica,” he mumbles. 

Negan’s drunken words almost slip past me as they’re low and nearly incoherent, but after a few seconds of wading through my fuzzy champagne-flooded head, I register what he’d said. My blood runs cold as the recognition of who this woman really is. With her bleached hair and haggard looks, she no longer resembles the woman in the photograph Joe had shown me, but now that I’ve put the pieces together, I can tell that it is in fact her. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is the woman with a personal vendetta against Negan. 

I know I’m in no state to handle this here and now, and neither is Negan. Doing my best to come up with a solution, I wrack my muddled brain until I come up with an idea. I drop Negan onto a bench on the sidewalk as we wait for a cab to take us home, ignoring his drunken complaints about how hungry he is and how long the taxi is taking. Hastily pulling out my phone, I text Joe and let him know that Veronica is here at the hotel with me and hope he can get here before she slips away.


	68. The Afterlife Of The Party

My head throbs painfully thanks to my slight hangover and complete lack of sleep the night before. Without rolling over, I already know I’m in bed alone. I’d left Negan on the couch downstairs last night and I know he was far too drunk to make it up to bed on his own. Rolling over, I stretch languidly across the wide mattress, groaning as my joints pop and crack. My mouth is horribly dry and I decide I need to get up and get something to drink.

I slide out of bed and plod clumsily into the bathroom, filling the glass next to the sink with cool water before sipping it slowly. Feeling tired and generally disgusting, I hope that a nice hot shower will help me feel at least a little better. I turn the taps and let the water heat before stripping out of my clothes and slipping under the gloriously hot stream. I let the pounding water soothe my sore body and ease the tension wracking my whole body. I spend an extended amount of time in the shower before finally washing up and stepping out to dry myself off. 

Deciding today is going to be a lazy day, I pull on a pair of plain underwear and comfortable cotton shorts with a t-shirt. Making my way downstairs, I find myself hoping that Negan hasn’t puked – on the floor or in his sleep – or done something else ridiculous. When I round the corner into the living room, I’m pleased to find him sprawled across the plush couch. One arm dangles off the edge with his knuckles brushing the floor and his overly long legs are cramped uncomfortably on the piece of furniture. Based on the obnoxious sounds of Negan’s loud snoring, I can assume he hasn’t suffocated on his own vomit and died in his sleep. 

Heading to the kitchen to make myself some breakfast, I pick up my phone from where I’d discarded it last night. I scroll through the slew of texts displayed on the screen, stopping when I find one sent from Carly. My stomach drops when I open the text and read the message, seeing that she wants to know what our plans are for the day because her kids want to spend time with their uncle. I table that conversation for now, not ready to face the subject so soon after last night. Instead, I pick up the newspaper from the countertop and flip it open to distract myself with some light reading. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” I hiss when I see that the front page story is about some family and their children. 

I slap the paper back onto the counter with a frustrated huff. It seems the universe has it out for me and is continually mocking me about my new found plight. _This isn’t fucking fair_. I brace my elbows on the counter, planting my head in my hands. I take several deep breaths, trying not to let my emotions get the best of me. I’m unsure why I’m letting this upset me so much as it’s never been a big issue in my life before. Perhaps with the prospect of being married and knowing that I’ll never have a family of my own, I’m afraid that I won’t be good enough for Negan. I’m afraid I’m going to lose him if I can’t give him the family he wants. _You don’t even know that he wants a family_ , I mentally berate myself, though deep down I know how likely it is that he does. I know he loves me, but I can’t help the annoying, niggling feeling of self-doubt that continues to gnaw at me. 

Between my exhaustion and the mere thought of losing Negan, the traitorous tears filling my eyes begin to spill down my cheeks. I back away from the counter, pressing my body against the cabinets as I slide to the ground. Burying my face against my bent legs, I let the tears flow freely. From down the hallway, I hear the sound of clicking nails and I tilt my head to watch Ziggy trot towards me. I manage a watery smile when Ziggy sits beside me and immediately rests his furry chin against my arm, his chocolate eyes looking up at me sadly. The action only makes me cry harder as I rub a hand across the top of his head and lightly scratch his ears. 

“Hi, boy,” I murmur, earning a low whine in response. 

Pulling myself together, I decide it’s useless to sit here crying over something I can’t change. I climb to my feet, calling after Ziggy while I head for the stairs, sniffling as I make up my mind to go back to bed and curl up for a while. Just as I pass by the living room, I see Negan sitting up on the couch. His eyes fall directly on me and I know it’s no use trying to avoid talking to him since he’s already spotted me. 

“Mornin’” he offers in a rough and pained voice. 

I offer only a small smile and a weak wave, not trusting my voice to respond verbally. I hope I’m far enough away that Negan won’t notice my wet, swollen eyes or red, splotchy skin, but when he shifts on the couch and stares intently at me, I know I’m caught. 

“You okay, Iz?” he ponders gently, tilting his head as he looks at me. 

Knowing my best course of action is just to deal with this instead of avoiding it and letting it continue to fester in my brain, I shake my head in denial. More tears start to slip down my cheeks and I desperately want to run and hide, though I know I can’t; I need to be open and honest with Negan. 

“I think we should talk,” I state, my voice cracking around the words. 

The concern is evident on Negan’s face as he registers my statement and tears, instantly holding out a hand towards me. “Baby, come here,” he implores. 

I drag my feet, keeping my head down as I walk as slowly as I can towards Negan. He reaches for me right away, taking both of my hands in his warm palms. I refuse to meet his gaze, instead staring nervously at my bare feet as I sniffle quietly. 

“What is it? You got me all kinds of worried here, doll,” Negan admits with a nervous laugh, struggling to maintain his calm. 

I fidget nervously, unsure how to broach the subject with him. After a few long seconds and several stressed sighs, I decide to push past my doubts and nerves and jump in with both feet. Still not looking up at Negan, I clear my throat and just go for it. 

“Do you want kids?” I blurt out in a rush. 

In my peripheral, I see Negan lift his head a bit in confusion. “I though you couldn't– ” he begins, though I abruptly cut him off. 

“I know, but _do you_?” I bite out, the uncertain tension in the room putting me on edge. 

“Izzie, where are you going with this?” he scoffs humorlessly, tugging at my hands to try to get me to look at him. 

“I saw you last night with Tommy’s kids and that little girl. How your face lit up,“ I begin, starting to cry harder as I force the words past my constricting throat. "And then in the bathroom…you looked so hopeful when you thought I might be pregnant. But then you remembered and so did I.” 

I know I’m rambling and starting to sob now so my words are barely coherent, but I need to get this out. Negan yanks harder at my arms, trying to pull me into his lap, but I fight against his grip. I can’t handle being that close to him right now. His frustration is written clearly in his features and I know I need to get the words out before I completely lose it or Negan flips out. 

“I can never give that to you and it kills me,” I choke out, my face dripping with tears as I continue weeping. “I’ll never be able to have a family or be what you want. I’m broken.” 

Those words are what finally pushes Negan over the edge and he wraps an arm around my hips, forcing me to lose my balance and tumble onto his thighs. Straightaway he gathers me into his arms, holding me as tightly as he can as I begin to blubber and shake. 

“Oh, honey,” he whispers harshly against the top of my head, rocking me back and forth as he rubs my back soothingly. “Shh, please don’t cry, baby.” 

His voice is broken and wavering, making it evident that my sobs of despair and fears of inadequacy are breaking his heart. I bunch my fists into his wrinkled white t-shirt, clinging to him for any sort of comfort as I break down in his arms. 

Negan breathes out shakily before addressing me quietly, his voice breaking again as he speaks. “You’ve given me everything, Isabella…every part of you,” he states adamantly. “That’s more than I deserve already. You are so much more than good enough, you’re too good for me. Please don’t _ever_ doubt that. I love you all the same no matter what and that won’t ever change. As long as I have you, that’s all I want.” 

Hearing Negan’s resolute declaration, I lift my teary, snotty mess of a face and finally meet his eyes. I’m shocked to see that he too is crying. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen the man cry and while it hurts me to see him so upset by my hysterics, I’m honored that he trusts me enough to show me such a vulnerable side of him. Negan’s emotional response lets me know how serious his words are, not that I’d ever have any reason not to believe anything he says. 

“I’m sorry,” I sniffle, reaching up to wipe away a single tear that trails down Negan’s scruffy cheek. 

“Hey, you do not have to apologize,” he contends with a quiet sniffle, placing a hand under my chin and forcing me to keep my eyes on him. “Don’t ever apologize for talking to me about your feelings, okay?” 

I nod my head, smiling weakly at Negan, trying to convince him that I’m okay. “I didn’t mean to unload on you like that. Just got a little overwhelmed, I guess,” I admit shyly. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Negan assures me, pressing a hard kiss against my forehead. “I want you to always be able to talk to me.” 

I settle into Negan’s chest, my hiccuping sobs finally ceasing as I use the collar of my shirt to dry my dripping face. He tightens his arms around me and sighs deeply as he presses his chin to the top of my head. I hate getting emotional, but I feel incredibly relieved to have all of this out in the open. While this discussion doesn’t change the situation, Negan’s reassurances have me feeling infinitely better and I know it’s going to help me cope with this issue. 

We sit tangled together in comfortable silence and during those few minutes, Ziggy comes to find us, speedily hopping on the couch and clamoring over us both with his oversized paws. Negan’s chest rumbles with laughter as the goofy dog curls up atop my thighs and rests his head on Negan’s arm. 

“He wants his Daddy, I’m just in the way,” I giggle, patting the ball of fur curled against me. 

“Mmhm, careful with that ‘Daddy’ shit, little girl,” Negan growls as he shifts slightly beneath me. 

As much as I want to push my luck and tease Negan, I don’t have the energy to go at it with him right now. Biting my tongue, I keep my squirming to a minimum as I cuddle myself closer to him and bury my face against my neck. 

“I’m hungry,” I whine, my voice muffled. 

“Is that so?” Negan wonders aloud, pinching my side playfully. “Let’s get some breakfast then.” 

I’m surprised he hadn’t jumped at the chance to make a lewd comment about his dick, though I’m grateful as my current hunger far outweighs my sexual appetite. Easing Ziggy off my lap, I extract myself from Negan’s hold and stand up. I turn and offer him my hand, laughing out loud at the way he groans as I pull him up off the couch. Before I can walk away from him, Negan places one hand on my lower back and one beneath my chin, pulling my face towards him. 

“You know there’s other ways for us to have a family,” Negan murmurs seriously, his face mere inches from mine. “If that’s what you want. As long as I have you with me, I want what you want. All you have to do is say the words. Tell me what you want and we’ll make it happen…because you deserve the world, baby.” 

“Thank you, Negan,” I express, wrapping my arms around his waist as I stand on my toes to bring my lips up to his. 

Negan kisses me back passionately before grabbing a handful of my ass, and pulling his lips away with a loud laugh. “Alright Princess, let’s get you fed,” he declares dramatically, whirling around and leaving me standing alone in front of the couch. 

I sprint out of the room, quickly catching up to Negan as I jump playfully onto his back. He let’s out a sharp grunt as I surprise him with the impact of my body. I wrap my arms around his neck as he adjusts my thighs around his hips and carries me on his back towards the kitchen. 

“Try not to throw your back out, old man,” I tease from over his shoulder, earning a slap against my bare leg. 

“Watch your mouth, young lady,” Negan scolds darkly. “Don’t make this _old man_ throw you down and fuck that sass outta you." 

I whine exaggeratedly, pressing my forehead to Negan’s back. "Feed me first, then fuck me,” I offer. 

“Ooh, you’ve got yourself a deal, sweet thing!” Negan hollers, dropping me in the kitchen before hastily beginning to dig through the cabinets and fridge as he gathers supplies and ingredients. 

I perch myself on the counter, watching intently as Negan glides smoothly around the kitchen. He’s just started and nearly every surface of the kitchen is already covered in some sort of food or utensil. I laugh at what a mess he’s made and how hectically he flits from one task to another, though I’m impressed with how swiftly he begins to throw things together in the pan placed on the stovetop. Before long, the air is filled with delicious scents and my stomach begins growling, begging to be fed. 

“I had no idea you could cook,” I call out, my voice free of jest as I observe Negan’s languid and sure movements. 

“I’m a man of many, many talents, my dear,” Negan retorts confidently. “As you well know,” he adds on, peering slyly over his shoulder as he tosses a sly wink and a dirty smile in my direction. 

I roll my eyes at him, picking up a piece of chopped red pepper from the cutting board beside me and chucking it at the back of Negan’s head. He whips around when the morsel hits him and drops to the floor with a small thump. I smile angelically at him, batting my eyelashes as he scowls and I fail to contain the bubbly giggle and wide grin that splits my lips. 

“Behave,” he scolds lightly, momentarily turning his attention back to the sizzling pan in front of him. 

“Make me,” I taunt daringly, sticking my tongue out when Negan lifts an eyebrow in warning. 

I think my brattiness has gone unnoticed as Negan seems to ignore it, instead focusing on dumping the steaming food onto a plate. He drops a few scraps on the floor for Ziggy before heading my way and handing me the full plate. I look down at the scrambled eggs Negan has doctored up, along with a hefty pile of bacon and buttered toast. Everything looks delicious, though my starvation may be lending to my biased opinion. Grabbing the proffered fork from Negan’s hand, I instantly dig in, moaning enthusiastically as the warm eggs hit my taste buds. I don’t know what Negan put in them, but they’re the best eggs I’ve ever eaten. 

Taking another forkful, I offer it to Negan, watching as he slides his teeth down the tines of the fork. It’s such a normal gesture, however I find myself becoming increasingly aroused at the intimacy of it. Deciding to tease him just a little, I moan more than necessary around each forkful of food, dragging my tongue along the fork each time I take a bite. I swipe the corners of my mouth with my fingertip before popping the thin digit into my mouth and sucking it seductively. I watch victoriously as Negan’s eyes darken and his jaw clenches, daring me to continue with my sensual display. He steps closer between my thighs, pressing his growing hardness to my pelvis and watching me intently as I proceed to feed the both of us. 

We continue like this until the plate in my hand is entirely empty and we’re both sated. I place the plate on the counter and lick my lips, giving Negan a small kiss as I thank him for breakfast. When I try to pull away from Negan, his hand shoots out to grab my face and hold me in place. 

“Don’t think you’re getting away with that little comment earlier, babygirl,” Negan threatens, nuzzling against my neck as he holds my jaw in a firm grip. “Or all your teasin’. Daddy’s gonna have lots of fun reminding you why you don’t talk back to him or behave like a little slut.” 

A tiny, needy moan escapes me before Negan presses a dominant kiss to my mouth to quiet the sound. He separates our lips with a wet smack, brushing his thumb across the plump flesh of my mouth as he glares threateningly at me. Before I can even think of moving or speaking, Negan bends at the waist, drags me off the edge of the counter and tosses me over his broad shoulder. I squeal in excitement, though Negan quickly shuts me up with a harsh hit against my backside. 

“Keep it down. Not a sound or Daddy won’t let you cum,” he threatens, slapping my ass intermittently as he totes me up the stairs and into our bedroom. 

I barely hold back the high-pitched peep that is forced from my lungs when Negan tosses me roughly onto the mattress. Biting my lip playfully, I stretch myself across the bed as I watch Negan divest himself of his clothes before stripping me as well. He crawls over me, carnal hunger burning brightly in his eyes. Knowing the delicious punishment I’m going to receive, I dare to part my lips and let a goading laugh slip out. Negan’s reaction is instant and intense, his strong hands gripping my flesh and pinning me down as he snarls a heated threat against the shell of my ear. 

Adopting a look of penitence, I whisper an apology and promise to behave, but that isn’t good enough for Negan. I’ve already broken the rules and now I’m going to pay. With a final instruction to remain silent, Negan proceeds to torture me, playing my body expertly until I’m screaming for release. It takes only mere seconds of my desperate, wanton begging to chip away at Negan’s impressive control and prompt him to fuck me into a wordless, senseless heap.


	69. Out On The Town

I finish plating the tall stack of fluffy pancakes just as Negan starts coming downstairs. Today is his birthday and I’d dragged my tired body out of bed early just to make him his favorite breakfast. As his shuffling steps approach, I quickly grab a few colorful candles and shove them into the stack of pancakes. I’ve just finished lighting the tips of each candle wick when Negan rounds the corner, and I whirl around with a devious grin as I present the plate to Negan.

“Oh, no,” he mumbles distraughtly once he realizes what I’m doing. 

I practically skip over to Negan, humming an off-key version of “Happy Birthday” as he drags a weary hand down his disgruntled face. “Happy birthday, darling husband,” I announce with an over-excited lilt coloring my playful words. 

“ _Izzie_ ,” Negan whines, tilting his head back and refusing to look at me as I bounce around in front of him. “I told you not to do this.” 

“Come on, Negan!” I practically sing, unable to contain myself considering how much I know he hates me forcing him to celebrate his birthday. “Blow the candles out before your breakfast gets all waxy. Just be careful your dentures don’t come out, old man.” 

My teasing finally prompts Negan to look at me, his irritated gaze burning through me as he wraps an arm around my lower back and pulls me into his side. I hold the flaming pancakes between us, careful not to catch either one of us on fire. Lifting the plate towards his face, I wiggle it enticingly, prodding him to extinguish the candles. 

“You’re such a pain in my ass,” Negan gripes, rolling his eyes before blowing the candles out with a swift huff of air. 

“And you’re no fun,” I counter sweetly. “Eat up, we have a lot to do today.” 

Negan perches on a tall barstool and lets out a lengthy, dramatic groan as I grab the butter and syrup and leave it on the counter in front of him. “What the hell does that mean?” he wonders in a pained voice as he lifts a forkful of syrup-soaked pancake to his mouth. 

“It means that it’s your birthday and we’re going to celebrate it together because I love you and I want to spoil you,” I offer with a sweet smile. Negan licks his lips and fights to hide his tiny smirk, my thoughtful words thawing his icy exterior just a bit. “If you play along, I’ll even suck your dick.” 

“You make it so hard for me to be annoyed, babygirl,” Negan grunts, burying his fist in my t-shirt to pull me between his parted thighs. He lands a sticky kiss on my lips before pulling away to look down at me. “Alright, what do you have planned?” he asks, finally relenting. 

“Nope! It’s a surprise,” I say, removing myself from Negan’s grip and twirling towards the doorway. 

“You’re killin’ me, woman!” Negan calls out as I trot up the stairs to go get ready for out day out together. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

“So how old are you now? Like…70?” I giggle from the passenger seat, biting my lip when Negan shoots a warning glance in my direction. 

“Keep it up, little girl, and I’m gonna turn this car around and take your ass back home,” he growls. 

I slide across the soft leather seat, pressing myself against Negan’s side. “But then you’ll miss out on all the gifts I have planned for you,” I simper, sticking my lower lip out slightly. “Like this one,” I whisper as I slip my hand over Negan’s leg. 

I feel his muscles tense beneath my fingers as I gently massage his thigh, my touch inching closer and closer to his crotch. Negan shifts his hips, adjusting his position as he takes one hand off the steering wheel and braces it on the back of the seat to make more room for me. Leaning more firmly against him, I reach up to nip at Negan’s jaw as I gently wrap my hand around his hardening length through the thin material of his black slacks. His lips part with a breathy grunt and I grip him even tighter. 

“Baby,” he murmurs cautiously, sparing a quick look at me before returning his eyes to the road. 

“Shh, just drive,” I instruct, using both hands to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants. 

I work quickly, burying my hand between Negan’s parted thighs to release his throbbing member. He huffs loudly when the cool air hits his hot length and again when I wrap my slender fingers around him. I watch his reaction to my touch for only a short moment before I bend over and caress the tip of his dick with a tentative lick. 

The car swerves a bit when I wrap my lips around the swollen head and I find myself laughing lightly. Negan groans at the vibrations my giggle creates and presses his palm to the back of my head. Taking the hint, I widen my jaw and slip my mouth further down his cock, swirling my tongue over the bulging veins. It doesn’t take long before Negan is a panting, writhing mess and his heady reaction to my ministrations has me redoubling my efforts to push him over the edge. 

“Ah fuck, just like that,” Negan snarls, fisting his hand in my long hair when I suck gently on his sensitive cockhead. 

The car rolls to a stop and Negan takes the opportunity to lift his hips, shoving his spit-coated length further down my throat. I gag around his thick shaft, but continue bobbing my head rhythmically. Negan growls something incoherently and I hear a car begin honking behind us just as he releases into my mouth. I close my lips around him and suck, making sure not to waste a drop of his thick, warm cum. 

“God _damn_ ,” Negan calls, twitching as I continue to lave his softening dick with my tongue. He grips my chin and pulls my mouth away from his oversensitive member, swiping his thumb across my lower lip to gather the drop of cum and saliva before it drips down my chin. “Filthy little thing,” he mumbles, finally acknowledging the angry motorist behind us and setting the car back in motion. 

“Happy birthday, baby,” I purr hotly into his ear before resuming my position in my seat. 

“I’m not gonna make it through this day if that’s the kinda shit you’re gonna be getting up to,” Negan admits, making me smile proudly. 

I shrug in his direction, unconcerned with his already exhausted expression as he pulls up to the curb and parks his truck. Hopping out, I smooth my light, flowing skirt over my hips and fix my tousled hair while I wait for Negan to climb out. He rounds the front end of the truck and meets me on the sidewalk, taking my hand in his as I walk enthusiastically down the street. 

“So what do you wanna do first?” I chirp, glancing up at Negan. 

He peers down at me, tilting his head and glancing at me above the dark lenses of his sunglasses. “Besides you?” he smirks. 

“Not funny,” I chide, rolling my eyes. “C'mon. We’re gonna do whatever you want to today, so pick a place.” 

“Fine, fine,” he grumbles, stopping and turning in a slow circle as he glances at the small shops lining the avenue. “Why don’t we go in there?” he asks, nodding in the direction of the Harley Davidson store. 

With a gleeful smile, I pull Negan along, dragging him across the street. He swings the door open, letting me inside ahead of him as the chime on the door announces our arrival. The young man behind the counter greets us, offering his assistance should we require it as I peruse the racks of leather jackets situated near the front window. 

I flip through the hanging garments until a low whistle catches my attention from across the store. Looking up, I meet Negan’s eye and he tilts his head, gesturing for me to join him. I stride quickly, standing beside Negan as he observes a display of various motorcycle helmets. He picks two helmets up, studying each one before deciding on one and plopping it over his head. 

“Whatcha think?” his muffled voice calls from beneath the fiberglass helmet. 

Pretending to think seriously about it, I cock my hip and tap a finger against my pursed lips for a moment. Negan stands before me, arms spread as he waits for my opinion. I step towards him and flip the tinted visor up, revealing the upper half of his face and his piercing stare. 

“It’s alright, but I think the hot pink one suits you better,” I giggle, poking lightly at Negan’s sides as he chuckles beneath the helmet. 

“ _Very_ funny, you little shit,” he murmurs, slipping the helmet off his head and turning to head towards the sales clerk. 

I jog up to him, snatching the helmet from his hands before trotting to the register and gently placing the helmet on the counter. I reach into my purse, producing my credit card before Negan has a chance to protest. The salesperson rings up the helmet and slides it into a bag before handing it off to me. Rejoining Negan, he kisses my temple and throws an arm over my shoulder as we exit the store. 

After dropping Negan’s helmet in his truck, I drag him up and down the busy streets, forcing him into store after store. No matter how hard I push, he’s reluctant to let me buy more than a few things for him. It takes a lot of persuading and negotiations for me to convince Negan to stop being so stubborn and by the end of our shopping, I’m in debt for no less than five sexual favors. 

Before long, Negan’s patience wears thin and he’s decided he’s had enough shopping for one day. No matter how I try to tempt him, he refuses to carry on. We stand outside the tastefully decorated window of a jewelry store when Negan finally decides to put his foot down. 

“Negan, _pleeease_ ,” I beg, whining like petulant child as I stomp my feet in frustration and ignore his warnings for me to stop prodding him. “Come _on_ , just a few more stores!” 

“My _goodness_ , are you _pouting_ , Isabella?” Negan teases, staring down at me and refusing to budge. 

“Don’t fucking make fun of me,” I complain, yanking on his arm to no avail. 

At that, Negan reaches for my hand and encircles my wrist, dragging me close to him as he leans down to growl lowly in my ear. “Behave yourself, babygirl. I said that’s enough, now knock it off,” he warns. “And watch your language.” 

“Or what, Daddy?” I mewl, hoping my tease will get me my way. When Negan slides his sunglasses off his face and over the top of his head to glare at me, I realize my plan has backfired. 

“Do you _really_ think playing that game is gonna get you what you want?” he drawls. “Oh no, sweetheart. In fact…it’s doing the exact opposite. You just earned yourself a little reminder of who’s in charge.” 

Using the hand still surrounding my wrist, Negan turns and drags me a ways down the road until we reach an alleyway. He pulls me around and in front of him, taking the shopping bags from my other hand and dropping them to the ground before pinning my body against the rough exterior of the building we stand beside. 

“You know how much I hate it when you’re a bad girl and don’t listen to me,” he breathes, hands reaching for my hips. 

He walks his fingers down my outer thighs, taking a hold of the hem of my skirt as he starts to lift it. Holding my gaze, I watch Negan’s pupils dilate when I gasp softly. His eyes drop to my parted lips as he raises my skirt high enough to expose my ass. Using both hands, he squeezes the plump flesh and sighs as if disappointed. 

“Take off your panties,” he demands sharply, hands slipping up around my waist. “Now, Izzie,” he barks. 

Heart pounding and hands shaking in excitement, I tuck my thumbs into the elastic waistband of my lacy underwear and make a slow, sultry show of lowering the garment. Negan watches me intently – albeit impatiently – as I step out of the panties. Before I can bend over to pick them up, Negan crouches and snatches up my underwear, quickly tucking them into the back pocket of his pants. 

“Spread your legs,” he instructs with one hand braced beside my head, his tone growing more dark and commanding. I hesitate momentarily, glancing up the alley as I know someone is bound to pass by at some point. Negan interrupts my uncertainty by tapping a finger against my jaw until I turn back to him. “Do as I say or I’m going to punish you…severely,” he threatens. “You’re gonna cum for me. Right here. Right now.” 

Encouraged by the lust Negan’s words produce, I shuffle my feet and spread my legs shoulder-width apart. Without hesitation, his fingers slip stealthily between my thighs, knuckles brushing against the smooth skin until he reaches my heated core. I sigh shakily when Negan’s fingers glide across my folds and he leans in to kiss my neck softly. 

“Are you always this wet when you know you’re in trouble?” he asks huskily, fingers swirling faintly over my clit. 

“Yes,” I admit with a breathy laugh. “I like it when you punish me.” 

Negan groans against my neck before shifting his fingers and plunging them inside me. The sudden invasion of my body earns a startled moan as I reach forward to grip Negan’s arm with both hands. He pumps his fingers speedily, my arousal slicking his digits and allowing him to work his hand smoothly in and out. I shift my weight and mewl, lifting my hips towards Negan as his thumb flicks over my throbbing bundle of nerves. 

“Oh god, Negan,” I cry weakly. “I’m gonna cum.” 

My admission only makes Negan more aggressive, his hand producing a mixture of vulgar, wet sounds as he pounds his fingers into me. I throw my head back and pant heavily, my thighs trying to clench around Negan’s hand though his ministrations have sapped my energy and strength. 

“That’s it, princess. Cum for Daddy, cum all over my fingers like a good girl,” he encourages raspily. 

His thumb moves in a blur, assaulting my clit for several unbearable seconds until I explode. My hips rock against Negan’s fingers, moving more slowly now, and my muscles ripple as my orgasm courses through me. The hand he’s had braced against the wall drops to my hip, steadying my body as I squirm and quiver. 

Before I have a chance to recover or fend off Negan’s exploring fingers, he forces another orgasm from me. The stimulation is overwhelming and near painful and it takes all my self-control not to scream out at the feelings before Negan finally relents. 

“Jesus Christ,” I exhale, leaning feebly against the wall behind me and nearly collapsing when Negan raises his moist fingers to his mouth, licking them clean. 

“You think I have time to make you cum again before anyone catches us?” he taunts with a wicked smirk, prompting me to whine in protest. “You’re right, I’d just make you cum even harder and then have to carry your ass home because you won’t be able to walk.” 

I level a scathing look at Negan, which he promptly ignores to wrap an arm around my waist. He grabs the bags from the ground and starts to lead me back down the dark alleyway before I stop him. 

“Can I have my underwear back?” I request, leaving my tone free of any sass, dare I risk earning myself any more serious punishment. 

“Nope,” Negan responds casually, still trying to direct me towards the street. 

“Negan,” I beseech, trying not to whine. “We have dinner reservations and I’m _not_ sitting in this skirt with no panties on.” 

He turns then, a serious expression across his handsome face. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you chose to wear that outfit. Do I have to start dressing you, little girl?” he taunts with a dark, smug smile before resuming his path to the sidewalk, sparing only a short glance in my direction. 

I cross my arms and stick my tongue out at Negan as I close the distance between us. Just as I reach his side, he swings an arm behind me and lands a loud slap on my ass. I squeal in surprise, jumping a bit at the contact as I turn to look at him in shock. He grips my ass tightly in one hand, forcefully tucking me into his side as we reach the curb where his truck is parked. 

“Asshole,” I joke, weakly pushing Negan away from me with a humorous scoff, though I can tell he’s less than pleased with my cursing. 

“If we weren’t in public in broad daylight, I’d shove my cock down your throat until you were fuckin’ choking,” he assures me. 

Though I know it’s meant as a threat, I take his words as a challenge and whirl around to face him. “What’s the matter, babe? You afraid of a little danger? Or just worried that you won’t be able to get it up again so soon?” 

Negan regards me with a look of disbelief and disapproval. “Ohh, baby, baby, baby,” he chants, his drawling tone and the steady shaking of his head forewarning of the punishment I’m sure to be met with for mouthing off. “Wrong on both accounts. Just know that I’m taking note of _everything_ you’re doing. Your ass is in so much trouble when we get home.” 

“Promise?” I titter sweetly, batting my eyelashes at my dissatisfied husband. 

With a low growl, Negan stomps towards me, trapping me against the side of his truck with a hand circling my throat before I have the chance to flee to safety inside. “I can’t wait to throw you down and fuck this brattiness out of you tonight,” he hisses. “I’m gonna leave you shaking and crying, begging for release. And you won’t get a fucking thing until you’re covered in my marks and you remember _exactly_ who you belong to.” 

His determined, angry assurance takes my breath away for a moment before I gather myself. Though I briefly consider pleading with Negan to take me home right now and have his way with me, I’m not done playing with him. I want to push him until his control snaps. 

“I like the sound of that,” I whisper cockily, leaning forward to increase the pressure of his hand against my windpipe. 

“Seems my warnings don’t scare you the way they used to,” Negan murmurs in a displeased voice. He looks at me with lust and anger, frustrated at my audacity to test his authority. “I’ll be sure to change that. Now let’s go.” 

Biting my lip against any further snarky comment my mind can conjure up, I nod obediently and climb into the truck when Negan wrenches the door open for me. I wiggle in my seat, a bit uncomfortable at the feeling of my still-damp thighs and my lack of undergarments. He climbs in beside me and I give him a reprieve from my taunting and teasing, sitting in smug silence as he slams the truck into gear and tears out into the street. He grips the steering wheel tightly and I wonder whether I’ll make it through dinner before Negan turns on me.


	70. Hot For You

Once Negan finally mellows out a bit and his racing truck slows to a reasonable speed, I turn to look at him. He spots me from the corner of his eye and his serious expression is quickly replaced with a slow smile. He shakes his head in exasperation and I can’t stop the small snort that slips out.

“Where’d you make reservations?” he wonders with a sigh. 

“That little Mexican place near the beach,” I say. 

“What, you didn’t wanna go to the Miramar?” Negan gibes. “We’d eat for free.” 

I laugh lightly at his comment, rolling my eyes at how cheap Negan seems to think I am. “Figured you would want to get away from work for once. Plus, I guess you’re worth spending at least a few bucks on,” I joke, gently patting his thigh. 

He laughs with me for a moment, then continues driving in silence until we reach the restaurant. As I take Negan’s hand and slide out of the truck, I’m careful to keep my skirt lowered so as not to flash anyone passing by. He snickers smugly and I slap his arm as we step inside the restaurant. 

We take a seat in a far corner of the dining room and order drinks while we wait for our food. I sip daintily at my chilled margarita while Negan briefly reads over something on his phone. I grow bored of the quietude between us and decide to mess with Negan. 

“Hey,” I begin with a smirk. “Remember the first time we went to dinner?” 

Negan flicks his eyes to mine, his gaze darkening immediately when he recalls our first date. “You mean the night I realized what a dirty little girl you are?” he retorts heatedly. 

I bite my lip, trying to hide my widening smile from Negan. He realizes what I’m trying to do and before I have a chance to say something else, he opens his mouth and turns the tables on me. Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on the table between us and speaks in a low tone while locking eyes with me. 

“Is that what you’re thinking about right now, babygirl?” he rasps. “How you came all over my fingers in public? Remember what a good girl you were for Daddy? Letting me get a taste of that sweet little pussy right in front of all those people. I bet you’d like me to do it again, wouldn’t you? I bet you’re fucking soaked just _thinking_ about it. I could just reach over there and find out, couldn’t I? I’m half hard knowing you’re not wearing anything under that short little dress.” 

I regret my ploy to tease Negan upon hearing his flowing words of retaliation. I can feel the blush coloring my cheeks and my chest rises with shallow breaths as I fight to form some sort of comeback. Squirming in my seat, I can feel the moisture growing between my thighs and know we need to change the subject before I soak through my thin skirt. Negan grins victoriously at me from across the table, only looking away when the waiter arrives with our food. 

We tuck in, talking between bites of food until I can’t swallow another morsel. I sit back with a contented sigh and wait for Negan to finish his meal. Shifting slightly, my foot brushes Negan’s ankle though he ignores the accidental contact and an idea begins forming in my head. 

Slipping my sandal off my right foot, I lift it to press against Negan’s calf. He takes notice of my touch then, his eyes shifting unhurriedly from his plate to my face. Noting my innocent smile, he raises his eyebrows, daring me to continue. I accept the challenging look in his eyes, skimming my foot up and over his thigh before wiggling my toes along his crotch. 

Negan’s nostrils flare and he drops his fork with a clatter. Both hands rest on the tabletop, curled into fists as he fights to keep a hold of his self-control. The fire blazing in his eyes is intimidating, though that doesn’t stop me. 

“Something wrong?” I ask, voice sugary as I glance at Negan’s clenching fists. 

“Honey,” Negan begins, glancing casually around the restaurant as if uninterested in his own deceivingly soft-spoken words. “I’m gonna give it to you so fucking good, you won’t be walking for a week. But keep it up. You’re just making this more fun for me…I’ll have you creaming on my dick all fuckin’ night.” 

I try not to whimper at Negan’s words as I signal to the waiter for the check. He delivers the bill quickly and I drop a wad of cash before reaching my hand out to Negan and waiting for him to thread his fingers between mine. He heads for the car, but I drag him in the opposite direction, rounding the restaurant and trudging towards the beach. 

“Iz, where you goin’?” Negan complains as I tug him along behind me. 

“Beach,” I smile, pointing in the direction of the sand and gently rolling waves lapping at the shore. 

“Baby, you got me hard enough to crack steel,” Negan grunts, his tone not quite aggressive just yet. “The only place I’m going is straight home to stuff my cock between those pretty thighs.” 

I whirl around at Negan’s words, placing my hands against his chest and standing on my toes. My mouth is nearly touching his, my breathy words swirling across his moist lips when I speak. 

“Why don’t you just fuck me right here, big guy?” I murmur, earning a feral growl in response. 

“You better get in that fucking car right now,” Negan barks, hands fisted with white-knuckled force at his sides. “If I have to drag you there myself, it ain’t gonna end well for you.” 

“Hmm, don’t think so,” I state cheerily, twirling around and taking off at a rapid jog with Negan calling impatiently after me. 

I giggle playfully, kicking up sand as I trot towards the water, occasionally spinning around to look at Negan. He strides with determination after me, though he makes no real effort to keep up with my pace. Stopping where the dry sand meets the wet, compacted shoreline, I pause to drop my purse and slip my sandals off my feet. 

Before I have a chance to turn around and spot Negan, he’s caught up and already has an arm threaded around my waist. He pulls me close, pressing his chest against me as I tip my head back and rest it on his shoulder. I sigh happily, wrapped in his arms as we watch the glowing sun begin to set atop the gently rocking waves. 

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper dreamily. 

“Yeah…you are,” Negan breathes, kissing the top of my head. 

I snort playfully at his cheesy comment as I extract myself from his hold and pad across the sticky, wet sand. Standing at the water’s edge, I call back to Negan, beckoning him to join me. My toes curl in the damp silt and I breathe in the briny air before moving forward to stand ankle-deep in the cool blue water. 

Negan slips silently beside me, making no noise as he wades barefoot through the shallow water to drop an arm over my shoulders and tuck me against his side. 

“Stop stalling,” he mutters seriously. “You’re not getting out of this. The longer you put it off, the redder your ass is gonna be when I’m through with you.” 

I turn to look up at him, biting my lip at the smoldering heat I find burning in his eyes. I know there’s no escaping my punishment, but that doesn’t mean I won’t drag it out as long as possible. _The delayed gratification is gonna make the victory all the sweeter_ , I muse, recalling the words Negan had whispered to me after our first date. 

Caught up in my thoughts, I’m taken by surprise when Negan sweeps an arm behind my knees and lifts me into his arms. With a shocked scream, I wrap my arms and legs around him, clinging to him like koala bear as he ventures deeper into the ocean. 

Holding my weight in one arm, Negan’s free hand crawls along the outside of my thigh, over my ass, and sneaks between my thighs. I use my tight grip around him to lift my body away from his prodding fingers, but I can only shift my body so far. My fingers pull lightly against the short hair at the back of Negan’s neck as I press my forehead to his and moan softly. 

“How did I know you’d already be wet?” he teases, fingers swirling deliciously against my heat. “You’re practically dripping.” 

“Negan, please,” I beg shakily, pressing my cheek to his as I bite lightly at his neck. 

He groans in response, quickly moving to dip one slender finger into my sodden entrance. I exhale in a rush, wriggling in his arms in an effort to create more friction. Negan lifts his mouth to my ear, pulling it between his teeth before sucking harshly at the flesh. The erotic warmth of his mouth spurs me on and I can feel the moisture seeping from between my thighs. 

“Izzie, look at me, baby,” Negan demands, his slicked finger not halting it’s movement. 

I struggle to gather myself and obey Negan’s order, breathing quickly as I pull back and force my eyes to focus on him. My eyes meet Negan’s and he ensures I’m listening before he opens his mouth. Something mischievous glints in his eyes as he regards me with a quirked brow, the corners of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. 

“Punishment starts now, sweetheart,” he nearly chuckles, his grin so wide now his perfect teeth come into view. 

I don’t even have a chance to hold on when Negan plants his feet firmly and shoves his hands beneath my armpits before extending his arms and tossing me into the water. I break the surface with a loud splash and a piercing screech, though I’m quickly silenced when the water swirls over my head. Screwing my eyes and mouth shut, I scramble beneath the swaying waves, launching myself into an upright position as my head breaches the surface and I take in a loud gulp of air. 

Salty water sluices down my face and soaks into my thin dress, drenching me entirely in no time at all. Still gasping, it takes me a moment to register the sound rattling in my ears. I sweep my soggy hair out of my face and rub a palm over the drops of ocean water threatening to drip into my eyes before I look up at Negan. Mere feet away, he stands up to his knees in the water, bent almost completely in half as he cackles maniacally. _That’s what that sound is_. 

“Ew, ew, ew,” I cough as a thin, stringy bit of seaweed slides from the top of my head and down onto the front of my dress. I grab the slimy kelp from my chest and whip it back into the water as I jump to my feet. “You’re _definitely_ not getting any after that, you _jerk_!” I yell in Negan’s direction. 

He continues laughing at my expense, tears streaming down his face as he stumbles on weak legs towards me. I cross my arms, pretending to be annoyed as his raucous laughter envelops me and I can’t help giggling along with him. 

“Think again, baby,” Negan sighs, holding a hand against his stomach as his laughter fades into a light chuckle. “I’m gonna own every inch of you tonight. I’m gonna take you again and again until you’re begging for mercy. But I won’t have any. Because you’re a bad girl and you need to be taught a lesson. Understood?” 

Not responding to Negan’s dominant tone, I merely stare at him. Just when I see his tolerance for my disobedience wearing thin, I kick my leg up swiftly, showering him in a wave of water. Negan smiles evilly, moving in on me, but not before I kick another surge of water at him, soaking the front of his clothes. 

Without a word, Negan scoops me up and tosses me over his shoulder as if I weigh nothing at all. I scream playfully and the sound transforms into a full-blown cackle as Negan trots towards shore, jostling my body. 

“Now you’re gonna get it,” he threatens with a laugh, giving me no reason to take him seriously. 

“No, Negan. No!” I struggle to yell between breathless laughs as he moves to lower us to the ground once he reaches the beach. “Not on the beach!” 

“What’s the matter? Afraid of getting a little dirty?” he teases, lifting me back up and then dropping me to my feet to look at my face. “Shit, you’re right. I don’t feel like having sand in my asscrack for the next week. I’d rather fuck you at home anyway, so I can make you scream as loud as I want.” 

With that, he grabs our shoes and my bag, takes my hand, and nearly makes me stumble over my own feet as he hauls ass back to his truck. He shoves me unceremoniously into the passenger seat before getting in behind the wheel. As soon as we’re on the road, he reaches for my thigh, sliding me across the leather seat and against his side. His hand slips under my drenched skirt and delves between my legs, wasting no time as his dexterous fingers skim lightly over my flesh for umpteenth time tonight. 

I spread my legs wordlessly, allowing him access to my body as he quickly works me into a frenzy. My hand wraps around his wrist, holding his hand in place as his fingers swirl wetly against me. Just as I’m about to reach the precipice, Negan slows his movements, not giving me anywhere near enough friction to get off. I whine in protest, desperate to cum, but Negan shows no sign of relenting. He continues this way for the entire drive home; working me up and then ceasing his pleasurable touch just before I can reach my orgasm. 

By the time we arrive home, my brow is damp with sweat and I’m ready to take matters into my own hands. No matter how much I had begged, Negan wouldn’t give in, assuring me that this was all part of my punishment and that it would only get worse from here if I didn’t behave. 

“Shower. Now,” Negan barks, his earlier frisky and humorous mood nowhere to be found. He turns his back to me, mumbling softly to Ziggy as he lets the energetic pup into the backyard. 

I plod silently up the stairs, mentally preparing myself for whatever punishment Negan has in store for me. Reaching the bathroom, I peel my uncomfortably saturated clothing from my body before hopping into the shower. I clean quickly, scrubbing the smell of the ocean from my sticky skin with swiftness as the excitement burning in my core grows. Within minutes I’m out of the shower and wrapped in a towel, heading for the bedroom. I enter the room just as Negan slips in from the hallway, a dark look filtering across his face when he spots me. 

“Didn’t wanna shower together?” he wonders, advancing on me. “It _is_ my birthday after all.” 

I chuckle at his complaint, stretching to press a soft kiss to his lips before whispering in his ear. “For someone who didn’t wanna celebrate their birthday, you’re really milking it now.” 

The laugh that rumbles from Negan’s chest is chilling and derisory, the smile on his face deceiving. “Get your ass in my fuckin’ bed and don’t move,” he snarls. “Get comfortable babygirl, Daddy wants to play.”


	71. Dark Side Of The Moon

I watch Negan retreat into the bathroom without another word, leaving me to drip the residual water from my shower onto the bedroom floor. When I hear the shower start, I decide to obey Negan for once today and get on the bed. Unwrapping my towel from around my body, I ruffle it through my damp hair before dropping it to the ground.

I grab one of Negan’s t-shirts, slipping the black material over my clean skin before crawling across the mattress. I know any clothing is a waste of time, as Negan will rip it from my body in mere seconds, though that doesn’t deter me from swaddling myself in the shirt that smells faintly of my husband. 

Settling against the pillows, I shut my eyes and consider all the possible ways this night is going to go. Remembering Negan’s earlier teasing, I can’t ignore the lust still simmering beneath my skin. As my brain fills with filthy ideas about how Negan is going to punish me and wreak havoc on my body, I feel my nipples hardening against the thin material covering my body. 

Overcome by my own arousal, I flatten my feet against the mattress and spread my legs, letting my hand slip between my parted thighs. Hesitantly, I slide my fingers across my dampening folds, lightly circling my clit. My body jolts at the contact and I breathe out, repeating the motion as blood rushes to my core. 

“Did I tell you to touch yourself?” Negan’s voice barks impatiently. 

My eyes fly open and I gasp at the booming timbre of his words, snapping my legs shut around my own hand. Before I have time to come up with an excuse, Negan’s strong hands grip my ankles and jerk my body to the end of the mattress. He towers over my prone form, dressed only in a pair of tight, black boxers; his face alight with disapproval. 

“Whose pussy is this?” Negan demands, fingers digging into my fleshy thighs as he looms above me. 

“Y-yours,” I answer obediently. 

“That’s _right_ ,” he confirms. “And that means I’m the only one who’s allowed to touch it. Do it again and I’ll tie you to this fucking bed.” 

I nod in understanding, face coloring when Negan’s eyes fall to my chest, obviously taking notice of my nipples poking through his shirt. He licks his lips lasciviously, hands slipping from my thighs to my waist in order to lift his shirt up and over my breasts. Bending over, he breathes hotly against my sternum before pressing his lips to the skin. 

He places feather-light kisses between my breasts, then over my right nipple to take it between his lips. A soft moan escapes me when he sucks gently against the flesh, my back arching off the mattress until he switches to the other nipple and repeats the action. Lifting the shirt further up my torso, he follows with his mouth, kissing each new inch of skin he exposes until he drags the tee up and over my head. 

Straightening up, Negan disappears to the walk-in closet, rifling around for a moment before he returns. I note the object cradled in his hand, though it isn’t until he fiddles with it and a low buzz emanates from his palm that I realize what it is. My chest constricts as Negan holds up the sleek vibrator, seemingly observing it as he approaches me. _I’m in for a long night_. 

“Where did you even get that?” I prompt nervously, watching him run his fingers over the oblong object before flitting his eyes to mine. 

“No questions,” he chides, turning the vibrator off before dropping it next to me on the bed. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to talk at all unless I give you permission, is that understood?” 

I don’t respond verbally, merely nod my head lightly as I swallow apprehensively. Though Negan hadn’t specifically requested a response, my silence is met with a quick slap against my damp center. 

“Use your words. Do. You. Understand?” Negan enunciates, ignoring my shocked cries each time he punctuates the words with another slap between my legs. 

“Yes!” I cry desperately, uselessly trying to shut my thighs to fend off Negan’s assault. 

“Yes _what_?” he demands, hand poised to fall between my legs once more. 

“Yes, Daddy,” I whimper. 

Nodding vaguely in approval, Negan reaches for the vibrator once more. My hands twist into the sheets beneath me as he turns it on and the room is filled with a soft buzzing. I subconsciously shift my hips, spreading my legs a tiny amount when Negan touches the toy to my calf and drags it teasingly along the length of my leg, coursing over my bent knee and down my thigh. 

My breath catches in my throat when the tip of the vibrator skims over the crease of my thigh and Negan presses it lightly along the outer lips of my sex. I lift my hips towards the vibrations, though my movement only prompts Negan to remove it altogether. I whimper softly, dropping back to the mattress, waiting impatiently for the contact to return. Negan doesn’t disappoint, trailing the vibrator over my mound, but he’s sure not to press it close enough to my clit for me to fully enjoy the sensations. 

Circling around my throbbing bud, Negan drops the vibrator lower and presses it against my entrance. Applying more force, the wetness dripping from my body allows him to easily impale me with the toy. The slight pressure causes me to cry out, which only encourages Negan to slip the vibrator deeper into my body. 

“Hands above your head, baby. Don’t move them,” Negan intones, one wide palm braced just above my pubic bone to hold me still. 

I cry out when his hand slides lower and his thumb flicks rapidly against my swollen clit. My body begins pulsing with my oncoming climax and I fight to keep my hands where Negan had wanted them. My whining grows in volume and frequency as Negan begins sliding the vibrator in and out of my body at a steady pace. 

“I’m gonna give you a choice,” Negan informs me, his voice as smooth and calm as if we’re having a casual conversation. “We can keep going and I’ll make you cum…right now, just like this. But that’s all you’ll get. Or…you can take my cock down your tight little throat and after that, I’ll fuck your brains out.” 

Desperate beyond logic for an orgasm, I nearly consider letting Negan continue like this until I get off. However, my desire to have him buried deep inside me wins out over my desperation and I opt to suffer just a little longer. Forcing my mouth to form words, I eke out a single, whimpered sentence. 

“I want your cock,” I mewl, causing Negan to tear the vibrator from within me instantly. 

“Good. Look at me, babygirl. I want you to listen carefully,” Negan commands, his tone devoid of any playfulness now as he gives me a moment to control my breathing and gather myself. “I’m not gonna go easy on you, Isabella. If you don’t want this, tell me now. Before we start, I need to hear you say you want this. You need to be _absolutely_ sure.” 

The severity in Negan’s eyes and face takes my breath away and a fresh wave of lust bursts through my veins. Suspense constricts my chest at what exactly _this_ is, but I know that I want whatever it is Negan chooses to do to me. “Yes, Negan. I want this. I’m sure,” I concede, willingly giving all of myself over to him with those few words. 

“If you wanna stop, you just say so,” he demands forcefully, fingers pinching my chin to hold my gaze on his. “If it’s too much, I’ll stop. No matter what. Do you understand?” 

“I understand,” I vow assuredly as my body shakes with nerves, excitement, and the residual rippling of my stolen orgasm. 

“On your back, head off the edge of the bed,” Negan instructs succinctly, slipping his boxers off while he waits for me to move. 

I situate myself, letting my head dangle over the edge of the mattress as I observe the upside-down image of Negan languidly stroking his swollen length. He steps closer to me, pressing the tip of his cock against the corner of my mouth, then dragging it across my lips. 

“Open,” he requests, fingers gently tapping my cheek. 

I part my lips and he slips his dick inside, groaning at the heat of my mouth. Breathing through my nose, I flatten my tongue along the velvety skin of Negan’s length, laving it in saliva. He thrusts shallowly into my moist orifice and just as I think how suspicious it is that he’s being gentle, he jolts his hips forward. His cockhead slams against the back of my throat causing me to gag and try shifting away. 

“If you wanna breathe, I suggest you fuckin’ relax,” Negan grunts, taking hold of my neck in one hand and my wrists in the other to pin me in place. “Relax your throat.” 

I try my best to heed Negan’s words, breathing deeply through my nose again as he fucks my throat roughly. Shoving his cock deeper and deeper, I begin gagging wetly around him. Unconcerned with the sounds coming from me, Negan continues thrusting, his pace becoming more erratic as he nears his orgasm. The hand threaded around my neck tightens and Negan presses his thumb against my windpipe and applies pressure to his length through the flesh of my throat. 

“That’s it, darlin’, Daddy’s gonna come down your throat and you’re gonna swallow every bit of it,” he proclaims through clenched teeth. 

Fulfilling his promise, Negan’s hips move haltingly and his length pulses within my mouth. Tears and saliva drip down my face, gravity trailing the moisture towards my hairline as I fight not to choke on the hot spurts flowing down my throat. I gulp several times in quick succession, drinking down everything Negan has to offer until he slips his softening length from my mouth. 

I cough and splutter a few times before Negan grips my shoulders and lifts me into a sitting position. Turning my head, he uses his thumbs to clean the trails of saliva from my face and wipe the tears from my eyes. 

“Good?” he beseeches, waiting expectantly for my confirmation. 

“Yes,” I rasp, throat sore from his treatment. “Thank you, Daddy.” 

Negan seems taken aback by my words, though only momentarily before he winks subtly at me. “That’s my girl,” he praises. 

Dragging me off the bed, Negan places me on my feet before pressing against my back to bend me over the edge of the mattress. I rest my elbows on the plush surface, not moving as Negan circles behind me. For a long moment, he doesn’t move or speak and I jump when I feel his touch between my legs. 

“Look at all this sweet fucking honey,” he moans, sweeping his fingers through the copious moisture dripping from me. 

His touch abandons me momentarily and I hear Negan leave my side. When he returns, the sharp snapping sound of leather makes me panic. Daring to peer over my shoulder, I see Negan brandishing a folded leather belt, slapping the material against his palm. He strides towards me and brushes the damp hair off my shoulder as he leans towards me and presses his lips to the shell of my ear. 

“You’re gonna get five lashes for mouthing off to me today,” he informs me. “After every one, you’re going to apologize to me. Nod your head.” 

I follow his command, nodding firmly as Negan places a chaste kiss to my cheek and backs away. With only a short warning, the first hit of the belt rips across my skin and I cry out, not expecting the pain that accompanies it. I gasp as my knees nearly give out, almost forgetting Negan’s instructions. 

“I’m sorry,” I state, voice trembling. 

I’m more prepared for the next blow, though the pain is just as bad if not worse. Another gasp rips from my lungs, but I’m quicker with my apology this time. On the third lash, I tense the muscles in my body and the sting is excruciating. My apology slips out among a sob as Negan softly places his palm against the smarting skin of my ass. 

“Don’t tense up, you’ll only make it worse,” he murmurs, hushing my sounds of distress with a gentle touch. 

I make it through the last two snaps of the belt, barely remaining upright between the pain weakening my knees and the powerful lust coursing through my body. Negan praises me for my apology, rubbing a hand through my hair in a comforting gesture. 

A wanton moan pours from my mouth when he plunges two long fingers into my pussy, immediately crooking them to press firmly against my g-spot. I call out, pulling away from the intense pressure, though Negan locks my hip in his hand and forces me to rock back against his pistoning fingers. I moan brokenly as Negan’s harshly thrusting fingers jostle my body and have me racing towards an orgasm. My thighs ripple and my abdomen clenches, the tension in my core nearly unbearable as I feel myself about to squirt. 

Just as I teeter on the precipice, Negan rips his hands from my body and cracks his palm across my ass. I scream shamelessly in frustration, enraged at how close I’d come to a much needed orgasm when Negan had decided to deny me yet again. 

“Negan, _please_ ,” I beg pathetically, immediately regretting opening my mouth when I feel the sting of his palm against my sore backside several more times. 

“Be quiet!” he orders harshly, continuing to land hits against my seriously reddening flesh. 

I snap my mouth shut, holding back my words and screams when Negan begins to finger me again. His fingers slip and slide easily between my folds, scissoring inside me to stretch me open. With his free hand, he forces my mouth open to push his fingers inside, wrenching my jaw open and preventing me from saying another word. I near my orgasm again, though I know better than to expect anything other than disappointment yet again. Confirming my belief, as my body tenses and my walls squeeze Negan’s fingers, he leaves me empty, wanting, and sobbing. 

“I told you I’d let you cum, but I didn’t say when,” he taunts, causing me to clench my teeth in frustration. “You’ve been a bad girl and you’re being punished,” he reminds me, telling me to stand up. 

Wiping the moisture from my face, I sniffle lightly as I compose myself. Still on edge with arousal, I glance up at Negan, waiting for his next move. My eyes drop to his flaccid length still shining with my drying saliva and I briefly wonder if I’m actually going to get the orgasm Negan had promised. 

“Don’t worry,” Negan placates as if reading my mind. “I’m still gonna fuck you as hard and as deep as you can handle, but first…you’re gonna sit on my fuckin’ face until you cum.” 

Before I have a chance to react to his words, Negan has his arms wrapped around me, dropping onto the bed and pulling me over top of him. I straddle his torso, using my hands on his chest to balance myself. His hands grip my thighs, massaging the flesh reassuringly before he pulls my body higher, inching me closer to his face. 

Suddenly nervous, I refuse to meet Negan’s eyes as I curl my fingers and dig my nails into his shoulders. He grunts at the sharp sting of my gripping talons and clenches his hands tighter into my thighs in retaliation. 

“Hey…hey, look at me, Izzie,” he calls to me, pausing until I obey. “You’re fine, okay? You trust me?” 

I nod weakly, unsure given the situation though I know I do trust him. Negan rubs his hands soothingly up my thighs, then grips my ass. He jerks my body forward, my core now hovering over his chin. Though I feel in control situated above Negan like this, being in this position is intimidating. My thighs shake as I try to hold myself up, too nervous to lower my center onto Negan’s face. 

He lets out a purposeful sigh and a rush of warm air brushes past my soaked folds. I nearly moan at the sensation, though I’m quickly torn from my pleasure when Negan pulls against my hips, lowering me towards his mouth. My hands fly out, firmly planting themselves on the wall above the bed as my body tenses. 

“Relax, sugar,” Negan soothes before easing me closer and pressing a gentle kiss to my nether lips. 

“ _Ohh_ ,” I keen in surprise, head falling back against my shoulders. 

My body relaxes and my inhibitions are soon forgotten when Negan’s mouth works methodically against me. His lips pull and suck firmly against my folds, his tongue slipping out to lick delectably against my clit. The tip of his pointed nose presses against me as he delves deeper between my thighs, savoring my taste with a litany of satisfied groans. My entire body begins to quiver as Negan devours me, eating me out like a man starved. 

“Go ahead and cum for me, that’s it,” Negan growls, his strained voice muffled by my sodden flesh. 

His grunted words vibrate through me, giving me the last push I need to fall over the edge. Dragging my nails down the wall, my face contorts in pleasure and a scream rips from my throat as I grind feverishly against Negan’s mouth. His hands grip my hips with bruising force, holding me against his face and refusing to let me escape even when the stimulation becomes too much. 

I squeal vehemently as the sensation borders on unbearable and I feel my arousal spilling into Negan’s mouth. Tears of ecstasy stream down my face and Negan gathers every drop of release from my pussy before latching onto my clit and sucking rhythmically. 

At this point, I’m wailing at the torturous pleasure as I cum a second time, this orgasm even more powerful than the last. Negan’s ministrations have sapped my energy and I drop my weight limply against him. I briefly worry about suffocating him, but the thought is swiftly dashed when Negan takes hold of my hips and flips me over onto my back. 

Braced on his elbow above me, Negan’s lustful gaze burns into me. “See how much better things are when you fuckin’ listen to me?” he snarls. 

His words barely filter through the fog clouding my mind when he forces my legs apart and thrusts his thick cock inside me. I manage only a faint sound of surprise while he slams into me, his hips crashing into mine as he pummels me into the mattress. Still sensitive from my last orgasm, Negan’s stiff girth stretching me open has my entire body feeling like it’s on fire. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… _Daddy_ , please,” I cry pathetically, legs coiling around Negan’s trim hips. 

Grunting and growling, sweat drips off of Negan’s forehead and onto my flushed chest as he wrenches my legs from his waist and pushes my thighs wide open. With his hands braced behind my knees, he pounds into me, his throbbing cock creating delicious friction between our bodies. One hand releases my leg to take my wrists in his hold and pin them painfully above my head while he shoves his way inside my body. 

My mouth pops open and my eyes roll back, barely staying conscious as Negan brutally fucks me. I feel mostly numb everywhere else, all focus centering on the feeling of Negan’s veiny cock rubbing viciously against my tightening walls as my hips twitch beyond my control. 

“You look so fuckin’ beautiful squirming on my dick like that,” he hisses. “I never get sick of seeing your pretty pussy stuffed full of me…my fat cock fucking up into you like this. So wet and tight.” 

Negan trails off, muttering non-sense as he’s engulfed in his own pleasure, taking his frustrations out as he dominates and owns my body. I can’t muster the energy to meet Negan’s thrusts or even make a sound, instead opting to take everything he gives me, letting him contort my pliable body for his own needs. 

“So close, baby, so fuckin’ close,” he rasps with a guttural voice. 

I barely register the hand surrounding my throat until it constricts tightly enough to cut off my air supply. Arousal rather than fear blazes through me at the lack of oxygen and my body seizes around Negan’s swelling dick. A long, feral sound rumbles from Negan’s chest as, somehow, he increases the pace of his thrusts. I mewl ecstatically at his renewed vigor, my body growing even slicker to accommodate his roughness. 

“You’re fucking _mine_ ,” Negan claims, his hand tightening painfully around my throat, the aggressive and dominant gesture setting me off. “Cum for me…all over my fuckin’ dick. _Do it_.” 

I let out one last raspy cry and soak Negan’s dick with my release as he coats my insides with his seed. The warmth of his cum filling me sets off a series of aftershocks that rock my body and cause me to clench around his surging cock. We both moan simultaneously as we climax together, Negan’s hips still shifting faintly as our combined fluids spill messily over our connected bodies. I exhale shakily, clinging to Negan when he drops his weight on top of me, his dick still hard and still buried inside me. 

“Shit,” I murmur weakly, my limbs heavy with exhaustion and my eyelids already slipping shut. 

“Happy birthday to me,” Negan grumbles into the crook of my shoulder, his sweaty forehead pressed against my skin. 

“I don’t think I can move,” I lament, uselessly trying to shift beneath Negan’s body. 

He groans at the movement, tightening his arms around my slick torso. “ _Don’t_ move,” he states. “The second I can breathe, I’m gonna fuck another load into that sweet pussy. I ain’t done with you yet,” he promises. 

Much to my surprise, Negan isn’t lying. Still hard, I feel him twitch inside me before he swivels his hips slowly. I can barely believe his stamina or understand how I can stand another second of his sweet torture, but Negan doesn’t seem to share my sentiments. Moving at a more leisurely pace, he thrusts fluidly, pressing his sharp hips to mine in an effort to gain as much depth as he can before he bottoms out. 

I whine frailly when Negan touches a finger to my over-sensitive clit, though the unpleasant sensation soon abates and in no time at all, I’m putty in Negan’s hands. He doesn’t lift his head from my shoulder, merely tilts his face to whisper filthy words into my ear, quickly throwing me headfirst into yet another explosive orgasm. As I clench and shiver around him, he reaches his release more rapidly this time, spilling inside me with a throaty groan. 

Finally relaxing, Negan shifts part of his weight off of me and slips his length from inside my ravished pussy. A flood of thick cum seeps from my core, oozing across my folds before dripping down my thighs and onto the soiled sheets beneath me. I ignore the uncomfortable stickiness, too exhausted to care about anything right now. Negan’s breathing calms beside me as he encloses me in his arms and drags me close to his chest. 

“I think I should misbehave more often,” I manage to joke, earning a weak chuckle from Negan. 

“You’re an insatiable little slut,” he grunts good-naturedly. “I don’t mind…any excuse to remind you who owns that delicious pussy.” 

He surrounds my throat with his strong hand once more, though he applies no pressure. Pulling me closer, Negan clashes his lips against mine before forcing my mouth open and shoving his tongue inside. He kisses me voraciously, a clear show of ownership as he claims my mouth and reminds me who I belong to.


	72. Who Can It Be Now?

The lobby of the Miramar is teeming with life as people filter in and out, some stopping briefly at the front desk to speak to our concierge. I glance around at the flurry of activity surrounding me, feeling proud of everything Negan has accomplished. Though we’re still working through some issues and getting over a few bumps in the road, business is booming.

I circle the vast lobby, stopping to chat with several workers, trying to occupy my time until Negan finishes his work for the day. It’s early in the evening so I know I still have several hours to wile away before I can bother him. As I send a friendly wave in the direction of the doorman, I’m surprised by the person who sweeps through the entrance of the hotel. It’s a face I’m familiar with, but one I haven’t seen in weeks. 

“Joe!” I call out, gesturing him over to me. 

Joe spots me, his face lighting up with a smile as he strides across the marbled floor. 

“Just the lady I wanted to see,” he greets, offering a quick hug. 

“Uh oh. Should I be worried?” I joke, taking a seat on the plush couch situated against one of the lobby walls and patting the cushion beside me in invitation. 

Joe plonks down alongside me, immediately reaching inside his jacket pocket to produce a folded sheet of paper. Glancing up at the plate-glass wall of Negan’s office that overlooks the lobby, I watch him pace back and forth with his phone pressed to his ear. I scrutinize the deep lines of stress etched into his face, twisting my mouth into a grimace as he gestures animatedly above me. Certain that he’s otherwise distracted, I turn my attention back to Joe. 

“What do we have here?” I wonder aloud, unfolding the paper. 

My eyes flit quickly over the words, the document reading like some sort of case file. Whatever this is, it boasts a plethora of crimes and wrong-doings with ample evidence for each item. A sense of déjà vu sweeps over me when I recall how I’d once had a similar type of document built against me some time ago. 

“This…is insurance,” Joe states, interrupting my perusal of the sheet as he taps a finger against the crinkled paper. “All of this? Shit we can use as leverage against Veronica. Shit we _have_ used, in fact. She’s taken care of.” 

I whip my head up to look at Joe upon hearing his declaration.“What do you mean?” 

“She’s gone,” he confirms, taking in my concerned expression. “Not _dead_ gone…just yanno, she isn’t gonna be around anymore. My people made sure she knows that you and Negan are not to be fucked with.” 

“How?” I prod. “Did your guys hurt her?” As pissed as I am for what she’s done and likely planned to still do, I see no reason for us to resort to violence. 

“No, no, she’s fine,” Joe assures me. “This dirt we have on her ensures that she stays away and keeps her mouth shut, unless she wants to land that prissy ass in jail. Lucky put protection in place for her, but with him being dead and all…we have the upper-hand here. Miss Veronica is of no concern to you any longer." 

I sigh with relief at Joe’s revelation, flopping back against the couch. Joe watches me with amusement, chuckling softly as he leans back beside me. 

"Thank you, Joe. Really,” I say. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this. Just one less thing for Negan to worry about.” 

“God knows what a beast he can be. The less stress, the better,” he snorts, prompting me to laugh along with him. 

We talk for a few more minutes before Joe announces that he has to be on his way. Standing from the couch, we embrace each other in a tight hug before separating to say our goodbyes. My hands rest on either of Joe’s forearms and his hands bracket myy hips as I thank him once more. Just before we separate, the sound of sharp tapping echoes from above us and I spin, looking up to see Negan spectating from within his office. 

Negan’s expression is unhappy and his eyes are trained pointedly on Joe. Oblivious, Joe waves briefly to Negan before leaning in to kiss my cheek and then head out the door. Daring to glance back up, Negan’s gaze burns right through me and he lifts a hand to crook two fingers at me, indicating that I should join him. I nod in acknowledgement and head for the stairs, taking them two at a time as I climb to the second floor. Gliding past Negan’s secretary with a short hello, I push open his partially open door and shut it behind me, closing us both up inside the office. 

“Did Joe come here to see you?” he asks immediately, clearly suspicious of the man’s presence since he obviously hadn’t stopped by to visit Negan. 

“I’m not sure,” I respond. “I just ran into him and he had something to tell me. I don’t know if he specifically came looking for me.” 

Negan hums disinterestedly, his long body propped against the corner of his desk as he studies me closely. “He have anything interesting to say?” 

“What are you really asking me Negan?” I jeer humorously, entertained by his vague statements and transparent attempt to back me into a corner. 

“I wanna know what the fuck you’re up to, Izzie,” he barks, seemingly not sharing my good-natured approach to the subject. 

His attitude ruins my jovial mood right away and I cross my arms over my chest defensively. Though I can probably write it off as tension from all the problems weighing on him, I don’t appreciate the snark of his words. “Who is Veronica to you?” I implore coldly, moving closer to stand before Negan. 

“Why?” he retorts, blatantly skirting my question. 

“Because I wanna know why some random bimbo would have reason to drag you through the mud,” I admit sharply. “Maybe a scorned ex-girlfriend, hell-bent on revenge?” 

“Don’t go there, doll,” Negan warns with a mocking laugh. “What does she have to do with any of this? And what are you doing with Joe?” 

“She’s the one who went to the papers about you,” I inform him, stepping closer until our toes almost touch. “I asked Joe to look into it and when he found out it was her, he handled it.” 

Negan straightens up, towering over me with a deadly look in his eyes. “ _What_ did you have him do?” he hisses angrily. 

“Nothing,” I claim, drawing the syllables out in exasperation. “All he did was talk to her and convince her to back off.” 

I watch Negan consider my words for a moment, though his expression doesn’t seem to relax a bit. His jaw clenches and his eyes pierce through me, his brain evidently cycling through in search of something else to berate me for. 

“We’ve discussed this, Isabella,” he states, leaving me to wonder what specific issue he has settled on to nitpick. “You _know_ how I feel about you going behind my back, and yet here you are doing it again.” 

Barely controlling my desire to roll my eyes at this redundant argument, I opt to put an end to the discussion in the quickest way I know how. Placing my hands against his firm chest, I swirl a finger just below Negan’s collarbone and peer up at him beneath my lashes. 

“I know, and I’m sorry,” I purr. “I didn’t think it was a big deal this time, though. Let me make it up to you.” 

Negan remains tense and stone-faced, totally unfazed by my tease. Ignoring his distinct disinterest in where I’m steering this interaction, I reach for his pants, popping the button open and swiftly lowering them to his thighs. I drop to my knees as I pull his hardening length out and wrap my hand around his impressive girth. I try not to let it bother me when I gaze upward and see that Negan refuses to even look at me. Shrugging his stubbornness off, I direct his cock towards my mouth, taking the first few inches of him between my moist lips. 

Just as I wrap my fist around the base of his manhood and suck lightly on the tip, the intercom on his desk beeps loudly. I pause momentarily, waiting to see what Negan will do, though I return to my ministrations when he remains motionless. The electronic sounds rings out again and Negan finally reacts. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, reaching behind him and smashing his hand against the button to activate the speaker. “ _What_?” he snarls impatiently. 

“The investors are here for your 5 o'clock meeting, Mr. Giovanzo,” his secretary offers in a bored voice, unbothered by his harsh tone. 

With a low grunt, Negan threads his fingers into the back of my hair and wrenches my mouth from his dick. I release him with a wet pop and whine in annoyance when he lifts me to my feet by my long tresses. Yanking his hand away from my burning scalp, I watch with fiery eyes as he shoves his stiff length back into his pants and adjusts himself as best he can. 

Wordlessly, he shifts his eyes to the door, indicating that I should leave. I raise my eyebrows and scoff at his rejection and cold dismissal, not believing his audacity. My eyes well up a bit at the blow to my ego and I twirl around ready to stomp out the door when Negan’s voice reaches my ears. 

“Hey,” he calls, though I ignore him until his hand gently circles my wrist and forces me back around. “Come here. Give me a kiss.” 

I resist him weakly, slightly upset and not sure I’m feeling up to his show of affection after the way he’d just tried to kick me out. He pulls me in close, hands cradling my face as he sighs tiredly. I turn my head away when he leans in to kiss me, and his lips fall against my cheek. I don’t want him to see the unshed tears in my eyes and the moisture only multiplies as I grow frustrated with myself. Unsatisfied with my refusal, Negan presses his thumb to my cheekbone and tries to pull my face towards his. 

“Negan,” I protest gently, still fighting against him. 

“I know,” he placates, sighing in frustration when a sharp knock raps against his office door. “We’ll talk later, okay?” 

I nod faintly, still not meeting Negan’s eyes when he presses a lingering kiss to my forehead. He ruffles my hair and taps his hand against my backside, pushing me out the door more gently this time. I smile politely at the group of men standing outside Negan’s office as I pass by them. 

Turning around, I finally meet Negan’s eyes, standing in the doorway as he lifts his lips in an apologetic half-smile. I return the gesture, thawing out a little bit at the look of remorse in Negan’s eyes. He winks at me as he directs the men into his office, smiling widely when I mouth the words “good luck” to him and watch him disappear into his office. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

Nearly two and a half hours pass before Negan’s office door creaks open and the swarm of businessmen exit the room. Not a single face in the group carries a smile and the vision has me wringing my hands nervously. The moment the men descend the curved staircase, I jump to my feet and race upstairs. Before I even reach Negan’s office, I hear the sound of shattering glass reverberating from inside. 

Flo greets me silently with a deeply worried look as I tiptoe past her desk. I hesitate a moment, waiting for any sign of movement before I ease the door open. Immediately I spot the spray of shattered glass across the carpet, a puddle of liquid surrounding the shards. Slipping inside, I find Negan bent over his desk, palms braced against the surface and arms stiff with tension. 

Negan pays no attention to my presence, merely remains in his angled position, back rising and falling with the deep breathes escaping his mouth. He pants so loudly, I can’t tell if he’s trying to calm down or merely getting angrier. 

“Honey?” I whisper, terrified to disturb his irate trance. 

Even before the second syllable has left my mouth, Negan whirls around with an enraged roar. His fist swings out, catching the lamp sitting atop the cabinet behind his desk and sending it flying clear across the room. The force of his blow yanks the cord right out of the outlet with a loud snap before the ceramic base of the fixture shatters loudly against the wall. I jump at the crashing sound, surprised at the severity of Negan’s outburst. 

“Negan,” I implore, addressing him more forcefully. “Talk to me, what’s going on?” 

“Those fuckin’ greedy _bastards_ ,” Negan hisses, swinging his long arm in the direction of the door, vaguely indicating that he’s referring to the investors who’ve just left. “They won’t agree to a contract unless I sign on to be partners with them.” 

“Okay…” I begin, but Negan cuts me off before I have a chance to question the issue with that deal. 

“Fucking _minority_ partner, Izzie. They want me to give majority ownership to _them_ and let them make all the decisions?” he growls. “I worked my ass off building this place up from the ground to get it where it is and they think they can just waltz in here and take it from me? _Fuck that_. I won’t let them take what I made and mold it to fit their needs.” 

I move slowly across the office, holding my hands out with my palms facing Negan in a placating manner. “So don’t make the deal. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Negan,” I offer. 

“Don’t take…don’t fuckin’ take it? I don’t have a choice!” he claims, his voice raised as he grows more agitated. “If we wanna lend _any_ credibility to the lie we’ve created to launder all this fuckin’ money we have sitting around, I have to at least _pretend_ to treat this like a real business endeavor.” 

“I understand that, but if they won’t cooperate, why can’t we just find someone else to invest? Why does it have to be them?” I argue. 

“It’s not that simple, sweetheart,” Negan huffs, words heavy with condescension. “You know…with the hotel being your idea and all, I’d expect you to be a little more concerned about the future of it. Or maybe that was the plan all along, to give me something to do and distract from the fact that my _wife_ is sneaking around with one of my associates.” 

Upon hearing Negan’s abrasive tone, my face scrunches in confusion before I lift my lips in a disgusted snarl. I thought we’d settled this matter earlier, and yet, here Negan is continuing to make a big deal out of absolutely nothing. Having already explained myself, this tedious argument is not one I’m inclined to repeat. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I snarl, shoulders hunched defensively. 

“You tell me,” Negan counters. “I have no idea what you get up to while I’m working. Two of you looked pretty cozy out there.” 

Negan’s accusatory words ignite a rage so caustic that an eerie calm falls over me. The fact that he’s even entertaining the idea of me doing something wrong is ridiculous and his complete lack of trust in me is a slap in the face. 

“Are you really fucking kidding me right now, Negan?” I ask in a level voice. “Do you think so little of me that I would betray you? In any way? In _that_ way?” 

“I don’t know! What else am I supposed to do? I can’t keep an eye on you all the damn time, so how the hell am I supposed to know what you and Joe are doing together?” he barks derisively. 

“I literally _told_ you what we were doing!” I howl, my irritation taking over. “We already had this fucking discussion!” 

“Did we, Isabella?” Negan scoffs. “Because all I recall is you giving me some lame excuse when I asked you a question and then you tried to swallow my cock before I had a chance to figure out whether or not you were being honest. Amazing how you manage to use sex to avoid every fight we have.” 

“Jesus, you wanna ease up a little bit?” I ask in disbelief at how Negan is having a go at me over unfounded assumptions. 

“You wanna stop lying to me?” he bites back, tilting his head with the sharp question. 

Tossing my hands up in defeat, I huff in exasperation at his continued insistence that I would dare to – or even _want_ to – cheat on him. “Negan,” I beseech in a desperate tone before deciding it’s not worth trying to convince him that he’s so far beyond the realm of logic. “You know what, forget it. Stay angry. When you calm down and realize how unreasonable you’re being, then you can come talk to me.” 

With that, I pace swiftly out of the office, head held high and nose turned up with indignation. I don’t even care that Negan is going to be pissed at me for leaving in the middle of our argument. I glide down the stairs and head straight for the bar in the lobby, demanding a shot of strong liquor before tossing it back and requesting another. 

I plant myself back on the couch I’d sat on with Joe earlier, crossing my legs and my arms as I sit and stew in my anger. _How_ dare _Negan accuse me of such a thing_ , I muse. I understand he’s under a lot of stress, but that in no way justifies his behavior. The man I’ve just interacted with is one I hardly recognize; though often short-tempered and explosive, Negan has never acted this way before. He’s being outrageous, illogical and paranoid, and I have no intention of just letting him get away with it. Just as my vexation begins to swell again, I register the sound of Negan’s shoes tapping across the marble lobby as he sweeps past me. 

“We’re going,” he announces in a clipped tone, scarcely even acknowledging me as he crashes through the front door and out into the parking lot. 

Rolling my eyes, I stand and make sure to take my sweet time trailing distantly behind him. By the time I reach the car, I find Negan propped against the front wheel well, waiting impatiently for my arrival. With not so much as I look in my direction, he turns and swings himself into the car, starting the truck before I even reach for the handle. I climb in as well, fastening my seatbelt in silence before Negan takes off. 

He drives erratically, only one hand clenched steadfastly on the steering wheel, and it’s then that I notice he hadn’t utilized his own seatbelt. Momentarily forgetting my extreme annoyance with my husband, I’m more concerned for his safety. Just as I open my mouth to say something, his ringtone sounds quietly from his pocket. 

I watch as Negan takes the call, his greeting terse and unhappy. I glean almost no information from his very brief side of the conversation, though I listen intently to his short responses regardless. By the end of the call, I’m relieved to find that Negan’s body language has relaxed noticeably. 

“I’m not mad at you, you haven’t done anything wrong,” Negan murmurs softly, breaking the ice between us. “I’m just stressed the fuck out, doll. I know that’s not an excuse and I shouldn’t take this out on you. I’m sorry.” 

Too tired to keep fighting with him, I merely reach over and pat Negan’s thigh in reassurance. I assume he’s well aware that his suspicions are merely a result of the strain and pressure being placed on him. Plus, it’s too easy for me to forgive him even when he’s an asshole. 

As we pull into the driveway, Negan’s phone rings again and he unleashes an irked groan. Patting his thigh again, I climb out of the truck, leaving him to tend to his business. From over my shoulder, I hear his door slam as he talks heatedly into his cell, his tone instantly reaching the same level of rage he’d used earlier. I sigh in defeat, seeing the way the rest of this night is going to go. I circle back to the truck, holding my hand out for Negan’s keys so I can let myself into the house while he paces in agitation. 

Approaching the front door, I pause, perplexed by the sight before me. _What the fuck_. Perched on the steps is a figure, obscured in the shadows and lying in wait. Fear constricts my chest until my mind eventually processes the size of the silhouette – the _petite_ size of it, to be exact. Taking several timid steps closer, my movement illuminates the motion-activated lights along the roof line and I gasp when the gleaming lamp reveals that the person in the entryway is a child. 

Though I don’t know her name, I immediately recognize the face of the young girl. I remember her cherubic features and soft golden hair from the party Negan and I had thrown at the Miramar weeks ago. Suddenly, my mind registers exactly who the girl’s mother is, and panic sweeps through my body. _Veronica is here_ , I conclude, immediately assuming the worst. 

“N-negan,” I whisper worriedly, my voice barely a weak his. “ _Negan_ ,” I call more loudly. 

I beckon him several more times before he finally takes notice of my shaky voice. At first he acknowledges my interruption with annoyance until I turn to face him and he sees the concern shining in my expression. He ends his call straightaway, crossing the driveway and making it to my side in a split second. I don’t respond when Negan questions what has me so upset, merely shift back around and point in the direction of our surprise visitor.


	73. If You Wanna

“Jesus Christ, is that a _kid_?” Negan blurts out in a frantic whisper.

If not for the circumstances, his downright horrified tone may have drawn a chuckle from me. “Yeah, Negan…it is,” I answer, looking on dumbly as we observe the child. 

“That’s…shit, that’s Veronica’s girl, isn’t it?” he murmurs. 

“Looks like it,” I respond lowly, softly touching Negan’s elbow. “C'mon.” 

Together we approach the timid looking girl, who I now realize is cradling a stuffed, dingy rabbit in her arms. She looks up at us, fear and uncertainty shining in her crystal blue eyes. Negan and I both crouch in front of her, giving her enough space so as not to feel crowded. Upon closer inspection, I recognize that this girl can’t be more than 8 years old and the thought that her mother had left her on our doorstep at night is appalling. I study her for a moment, even more disgusted when I note her filthy dress, matted hair, and general unkempt appearance. 

“Hi, sweetie,” I coo gently, offering a kind smile. “Where’s your mom?” 

The petite blonde merely shakes her head lightly, turning her eyes downward to peer at the tiny pink sneakers encasing her feet. “Mommy said I have to stay here…with Mr. Negan.” 

Negan moves closer, balancing himself on one knee as he reaches out for her. Taking her small hand in his own, he rubs his thumb across her knuckles, encouraging her to speak. “Did Mommy say if she would be back? Why did she say you have to be here?” 

I watch Negan’s face fall when the girl pulls away, though his expression changes when he sees her reaching for something. Her tiny hand slips between her torso and the worn rabbit settled atop her knobby, dirty knees. She produces a crinkled white note, shyly surrendering it to Negan. 

He flips the card over and I see there’s writing scrawled across it. Leaning over, I read it over his shoulder, shocked at the words scribbled in blue ink. 

_**I can’t afford to take care of her anymore. She’s your problem now. Give her a good life.**_

Negan’s hand vibrates as he crushes the scrap of paper in his fist, exhaling loudly at the same time. I replay the words over and over in my head, astounded that this child’s mother could so easily give up her baby. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if this is some kind of ploy; a game of sorts, or a way for Veronica to exact her revenge on us. Thinking back on my conversation with Joe, I ponder whether or not she truly had heeded the warning she’d received. Before I can consider the possibilities any longer, Negan rises to his feet, gripping my elbow to bring me with him as he takes a few steps away from the little girl. 

“What are you thinkin’ here?” Negan beseeches. “Why would Veronica just turn her kid over to me? Especially after she tried to come after me.” 

I appreciate Negan’s consideration of my opinion and take a stabilizing breath before I offer my perspective. “It’s suspicious, yeah. But I can’t imagine she’d use her kid as a pawn. She wouldn’t have left her with us unless she had no other choice.” 

“Oh, _trust_ me…she had a choice,” Negan snaps. “She just chose being a cokehead whore over taking care of her kid and now she’s taking the easy way out and dumping the poor thing.” 

Nodding in agreement, I rub a hand down Negan’s arm, feeling sorry that he has yet another thing to worry about. “Either way, we should take her inside,” I advise. 

Negan approaches the girl again, stooping back to her level as he mumbles something I can’t quite make out. Whatever he says earns an enthusiastic nod in response and the girl hops to her feet. Negan stands as well, reaching out for the girl on the way up. He swings her into his arms, being careful not to crush the rabbit she clings to. 

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Negan asks softly, bouncing the girl in his arms. 

“Lucille,” she chirps. 

“ _Lucille_!” he repeats in wonder. “That’s a pretty name. This is Izzie,” he offers turning towards me. “She’s my wife. She’s pretty, too, huh?" 

Lucille giggles and nods excitedly, adamantly agreeing with Negan. Blushing a bit, I step around the pair, unlocking the front door and bracing myself for the speeding ball of fur I know will greet us upon our arrival. As expected, Ziggy flies into the room at quite a clip; over-sized paws sliding all over the place and his floppy tongue lolling wildly from the side of his mouth. Our pint-sized guest promptly buries her face against Negan’s shoulder, clearly afraid of the erratic dog circling beneath her. 

"Aw, don’t be afraid,” Negan placates her, rubbing his hand in soothing circles over her back. “He’s totally harmless, just a little too excited for his own good. Do you wanna meet him?” 

Hearing Negan’s reassurance and his offer, Lucille slowly pulls her head away from Negan’s chest to glance down at Ziggy. His tail wags animatedly and he looks straight up at the unfamiliar girl, his chin practically pressed to Negan’s crotch as he stretches to get a sniff of Lucille’s dangling feet. I giggle at the sight, watching as Lucille agrees and Negan carefully drops in front of Ziggy. 

“Take it easy, buddy,” he chides, bracing a palm against the dog’s chest to ensure that he doesn’t get too close to Lucille. 

Once he calms down, Negan allows Ziggy closer, letting him press his wet nose against Lucille’s bare thigh. She laughs cutely at the sensation, then reaches out to pat Ziggy’s head. He lowers his ears and stretches closer, enjoying the tiny hand scratching his head. Lucille grins widely, using both hands to dig into Ziggy’s thick fur. After a few minutes, she grows bored, and presses herself against Negan once more, wrapping her thin arms around his neck. He stands, walking towards the living room and I notice Lucille’s dirt-crusted fingernails and grimy hands. 

“Negan?” I call. “We should get her cleaned up." 

"Okay, you wanna take her?” he asks as he extends his arms and hands Lucille to me. “I got a few calls to make.” 

Leaving Negan to take care of his business, I make my way upstairs, toting Lucille in my arms. I flip on the lights in the bathroom before setting Lucille on the counter next to the sink. Digging around in the cabinet, I procure some soap and shampoo as well as a large towel. Lucille watches me gather the supplies and bring them over to the tub in the corner where I leave them on the floor. I plug the drain and turn the taps, letting the warm water flow and begin to fill the basin. 

“You ready?” I implore, holding my hands out to Lucille. I help her down from the counter and lead her to the steaming tub. “I’m gonna find you something clean to wear, take a few minutes to clean yourself up, okay?” 

Unsure what else to do, I slip out of the bathroom and walk to the bedroom. Wrenching open a few drawers, I try to find something for Lucille to wear. All of Negan’s shirts are far too large for her tiny frame so I select the smallest t-shirt of my own and grab that. Overwhelmed and inexperienced with a child, my face is blatantly distraught when Negan slips into the room and spots me. 

“You good?” he asks, his tone concerned. 

“I have no fucking idea what to do with a child,” I choke out. “Can children bathe themselves? I left her in there by herself. Should I not have done that? What if she drowns? I should go check…”. 

Negan grips my arm as I try to exit the room, turning me around then entrapping my face in his wide palms. “ _Breathe_ , baby,” he instructs. “You’re fine. I have no fuckin’ idea what to do either. But we’re gonna do our best, okay? I called Tommy…Carla is gonna come over tomorrow to bring some clothes and then we’re gonna figure out what to do here. We’re gonna be just fine.” 

I nod slowly at Negan’s words, reveling in his calming touch and soothing tone. _We’re gonna be just fine_ , I chant in my head, convincing myself that the words are true. Standing on my toes, I plant a firm kiss on Negan’s lips, then traipse back to the bathroom. I tap lightly on the door before letting myself in. 

“How we doin’ in here?” I query, making my way to the tub, shirt in hand. 

“All done!” Lucille announces proudly, suds piled up on top of her flaxen locks. 

With a word of praise, I unfold the towel and hold it open. Lucille climbs out of the tub and I wrap the terrycloth around her dripping form, rubbing the material over her skin to dry her quickly. A bubbly giggle escapes her when I use the towel to muss up her saturated hair. Once dry, I offer her my shirt, slipping it over her head and smirking when the baggy article falls to her knees. 

“Okay. How about some food? You hungry?” I quiz her. 

Lucille nods with fervor, seemingly excited at the prospect of food. _A girl after my own heart_ , I think to myself. I gather her into my arms, balancing her weight on my hip as I carry her down the stairs. When I enter the kitchen, I’m surprised to find Negan with his head buried deep inside the fridge. 

“Great minds think alike, huh?” I call out, causing Negan to jump slightly in surprise. 

“Hey, there she is!” Negan grins, rounding the island to take a seat on the stool beside the one I place Lucille on. “Look at you, all squeaky clean.” 

I gather armfuls of food, deciding to make a bunch of different things and let Lucille decide which she’d rather have. As I set about preparing various meals, I listen in as Negan talks lowly to Lucille in a sweet voice. 

“Can I call you Lucy?” Negan requests happily, pleased when he receives confirmation. “Lucy it is, then,” he announces, tapping his finger against Lucy’s button nose. “So, what’s your favorite food, _Lucy_?” 

A smile remains plastered across my face as I watch Negan interact with Lucy. This is a side of him I’m not accustomed to seeing very often and it’s something that pulls heavilly at my heartstrings. Numerous plates pile up in front of Lucy and she picks at each one, laughing and playing with Negan as they both munch on different snacks. I enjoy the happy pair in front of me until Lucy gasps loudly at something. 

“Hoppy!” she cries in distress, her tone shrill. “Hoppy! Hoppy’s gone!” 

She promptly bursts into tears, gulping and sobbing, and leaving Negan and I to gaze at each other. Not knowing what else to do, Negan attempts to comfort Lucy, though she’s not having it. She only cries harder, repeating the same word over and over again. All at once, I realize what she’s crying for and I intervene. 

“Lucy, honey, it’s okay,” I assure her, relieved when my words manage to halt her sobs momentarily. “Hoppy is upstairs, remember? I’ll go get him for you.” 

Wiping her tiny hands across her damp cheeks, Lucy sniffles as she nods at me. Finally calmed down, she offers Negan a watery smile when he tries talking to her again. Sneaking out of the room, I jog up the stairs and into the bathroom, locating Lucy’s stuffed toy. The words I hear as I return to the kitchen pull my heartstrings in an entirely different way. 

“Mommy didn’t want me anymore,” Lucy states blandly. I know she’s too young to fully comprehend what’s happened to her, but she’s smart enough to know that something is up. Her naiveté doesn’t make the hurt in her voice any less obvious and gut-wrenching. 

“That’s not true, baby,” Negan disputes in a caring but firm voice. “Sometimes bad things happen and mommies can’t stay. They have to go away, but it’s not because they want to. I know your mommy loves you very much, but she can’t be with you. It’s not your fault though, you didn’t do anything wrong. You understand that, right?” 

“Is Mommy coming back?” Lucy asks sadly. 

“I don’t know, Lu,” Negan responds honestly, his tone remorseful. “But what I _do_ know is that we’re going to take care of you and make sure you’re as happy as can be, okay?” 

Lucy lights up at Negan’s renewed happy tone, seemingly satisfied with his answer. “Okay, Mr. Negan,” she agrees cheerily. 

“Whaddya say we get some sleep?” Negan offers, his excitement convincing Lucy that going to bed is just about the most fun thing she can do. 

Scooping her up into his arms, Negan lumbers towards the stairs, bouncing Lucy and swinging her about along the way. She giggles and screeches gleefully, her musical voice filling the air. Allowing Negan to tend to Lucy, I head to our own bedroom to change and get ready for bed. I’m perched on the corner of the mattress when Negan appears in the doorway, a tired smile crinkling his gorgeous face. 

“Did you put her in the guest room?” I ask him. 

“Yep. She’s tucked up tight and well on her way to Snoozeville,” he claims, rubbing a hand across his jaw. 

“She has to stay here with us, Negan,” I address. “She has nowhere else to go, we can’t just turn her away.” 

Negan laughs heartily to himself, leaving me confused as to what’s so funny. He crosses his arms and cocks a hip, standing across the room to observe me. With his eyebrows raised and the tip of his tongue tucked in the corner of his mouth, he stares at me for a long moment before approaching me. 

“I’m offended that you think I’d even _consider_ any other option,” he grumbles playfully while tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “So she stays. It’s no use tracking Veronica down because she doesn’t deserve that angel.” 

“No, she doesn’t,” I agree. “The only way to make sure she’s okay is if we take her. Are you okay with that?” 

Glancing up at Negan, I’m almost sure his eyes are shining with moisture. When he smiles and answers my question, the words that leave his mouth guarantee that _my_ eyes are shining with moisture, too. 

“Maybe we can have our own little family after all,” he whispers earnestly.


	74. Sweet Child O' Mine

After a little over a week, Negan, Lucy, and I have developed a comfortable routine. Even given the circumstances and the unexpectedness of her arrival, Lucy has settled in well with us. Though she’d been a little shy and closed off at the start, Negan and I have managed to get her to warm up and accept her new life with us.

Every morning, I wake before Negan and get Lucy up and dressed. As someone who values their sleep, rising before the sun with Lucy isn’t something I consider ideal, but I soon realize that I would do _anything_ for that little girl – even sacrifice some shut-eye. 

Today, however, I’m running a little late. When I open the door to the guest room, I’m met with the sight of Lucy dressing herself. I laugh softly to myself as she spins towards me, her arm stuck out at an odd angle due to the shirt tangled around her shoulders. 

“Need some help there, silly?” I giggle, dropping to my knees to wrangle the clothing and situate it over her tiny frame. 

“Breakfast?” Lucy asks excitedly once I’ve aided her with her wardrobe. 

“You got it,” I smile. “I’ll race ya downstairs, but we have to be _super_ quiet…we don’t wanna wake Negan up.” 

Lucy accepts, bouncing on her toes before I count down and we take off into the hallway and down the stairs. I trot down the steps, Lucy’s clumsy footfalls thumping alongside me before she jumps over the last two stairs and lands loudly on the hardwood floor. She rounds the corner and flies into the kitchen, sliding across the tile floor before hopping up and down victoriously. 

“Ah, you beat me!” I announce, feigning disappointment. “Okay, winner’s choice. What are we eating?” 

“Hmm, waffles?!” she decides with enthusiasm. 

I set about preparing a mountain of waffles for us, making sure there’s enough for Negan when he inevitably turns up with his monstrous appetite. Just as the thought of Negan crosses my mind, the floor creaks softly, giving away his arrival. Glancing at the clock, I realize he’s already running late for work. _I guess being the boss has it’s perks_ , I think to myself as Negan shuffles unhurriedly through the kitchen towards me. 

“Mornin’, baby,” he mumbles tiredly, resting his hands on my pelvis as he peers over my shoulder. 

Leaning back, I turn my head to accept his kiss. “You’re late,” I tease. 

My comment earns only a bothered grunt as Negan circles the kitchen to say hello to Lucy. He places a kiss against the top of her head and ruffles her hair lovingly. She giggles around a mouthful of waffles and Negan grins brightly in return. Watching him head back towards me and swing the cabinet door open to fetch a mug, I can’t help admiring Negan’s appearance. 

Dressed only in a pair of boxers, his toned body is on full display. I leer hungrily at the soft lines of his abdomen, my eyes tracing the thin trail of hair leading between the deep cut of his hips. The messy, disheveled hair atop is head is just the icing on the tasty, sexy cake. Subconsciously, I clench my thighs and bite my lip, appreciating the sight in front of me. 

“ _Naughty_ ,” Negan whispers to me as he passes by me and uses his thumb to pull my bottom lip from between my teeth, clearly taking notice of my shameless ogling. 

I begin cleaning my cooking utensils and swiping the kitchen counter while Lucy finishes up her breakfast. When she announces that she’s done, I use a damp paper towel to wipe the mess of syrup she’s managed to smear all over her adorable face. Kissing the tip of her nose, I toss the cloth into the trash and turn back towards her. Before I have a chance to ask whatever inane question had just popped into my head, Lucy speaks up in a timid voice. 

“Can I call you Mommy and Daddy?“ she murmurs, looking down as she wrings her tiny hands. 

I whip my head in Negan’s direction, meeting his eyes for a flash before we both move to stand on either side of the stool Lucy sits upon. It takes me a moment to decide which way to best handle Lucy’s question. 

“Is that what you want?” I prod gently, placing my hand against her back. 

“Yeah,” she admits shyly. “I want you to be my parents.” 

“Well then…whatever you want, Princess,” Negan assures her with a warm smile. 

Lucy beams, her smile spreading from ear to ear at the good news. She hugs both Negan and I in turn, clinging to us each as she chants her gratitude over and over. Her unbridled joy melts my heart and Negan and I share a knowing look over her head. 

I watch as Lucy hops from her stool when she spots Ziggy trotting through the room. Running towards him, she wraps her arms around his neck and hugs him tightly as well. She drops to her knees in front of him, though the weight of her small body accidentally lands on one of his paws. Ziggy lets out a sharp yip that startles both Lucy and I. A loud yell and a reverberating clatter echo through the room and I realize the sound had startled Negan as well. Hot coffee drips from the hand that had previously held his mug and he’s too slow to move from the path of the ceramic cup as it plunges to the tile floor. 

“Oh, _fuck_!” he curses loudly as his mug of steaming beverage shatters against the ground and splashes across his bare feet. 

“ _Negan_ ,” I scold, sparing a quick glance in Lucy’s direction and cringing when I see the shocked expression sprout across her face at Negan’s foul mouth. 

“Shit, sorry,” he apologizes. “I burned the goddamn _shit_ outta my hand.” 

My mouth opens in shock and my eyes widen in horror as the curses continue to spill from Negan’s lips. Still watching Lucy, her expression swiftly changes from one of distress to one of amusement. A bubbly laugh starts deep in her chest until she’s practically rolling on the floor with laughter. Ziggy looks down at Lucy for a moment before flopping to his side next to her and causing her to cackle even harder. 

“Daddy’s bad!” she cries through peals of laughter as Ziggy nuzzles against her. 

“Yeah, he is,” Negan mumbles, though Lucy is no longer paying attention to either of us. “Maybe Mommy is gonna have to punish him.” 

Negan prowls towards me, offering a sleazy smile and a saucy wink as he threads his strong arms around me. “Punishment is gonna have to wait until _after_ work,” I chide, gesturing to the glowing digits on the oven’s LCD display indicating what time it is. 

“Work can wait,” Negan gripes, pressing his lips to my neck as he crushes me to his chest. 

“Negan, _go_!” I insist playfully, trying to pry myself out of his hold. He throws his head back and lets out a dramatic and lengthy groan as he finally releases me. “Have a good day. I love you… _Daddy_.” 

Negan growls dangerously and looks over his shoulder to make sure Lucy is still distracted before he presses against me. Rolling his hips, he grinds his blossoming erection into the soft flesh of my lower stomach. He captures my lips in an extended, passionate kiss, occasionally nipping at my lips before he pulls away. 

“I love you more, sweet thing,” he breathes, then swats my ass as he heads up the stairs to get dressed. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

After a long exhausting day of shopping, Lucy and I are back home and cooking a simple and easy dinner together. Though Carla had graciously offered plenty of clothes for Lucy to wear, I felt she’d probably like to have some clothes of her own that she could pick out. Even given her particular circumstances, Lucy has more gratitude and manners than most adults I know. From all the times she thanked me for taking her shopping down to the way she interacted with various shop owners, I realize Lucy is more grown up and mature than any child of her age should have to be. 

Just as Lucy and I finish cooking, I hear the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut. Digging into my plate of food, I smile in greeting as Negan enters the kitchen. He tosses his suit jacket onto the counter before taking a very excited Lucy into his outstretched arms. 

“Hi, angel,” he sings, peppering her face with kisses before she squirms her way back down to the ground. “Hey, Mama,” he hums, kissing me lightly on the temple. 

The three of us talk and joke as we eat, enjoying each other’s company for a long while. As I clean up, I smile to myself as Lucy regales Negan with stories of her day. Leaning across the counter, he props his chin in his hand and listens to the chattering girl with rapt interest. Before long, she mentions the last store we’d gone to today and lets Negan in on the secret gift I’d purchased for him. 

“You got me somethin’?” Negan implores, waggling his eyes playfully. 

Laughing at his antics, I snatch up the square box I’d tucked into the back corner of the counter and bring it to Negan. I slide it in his direction, watching his expression as he reads the moniker printed across the cardboard. 

“It’s from that jewelry store you refused to let me take you in for your birthday,” I gibe, reminding him of the interesting trip we’d had that day. “Remember?” 

“Oh, I _definitely_ remember,” Negan declares adamantly, his eyes heating up as he recalls the reason we never made it inside that particular store. 

Negan lifts the lid on the small box, eyes widening when he peers inside. Reaching in, he extracts the shining Rolex watch from within. He whistles lowly as he observes the expensive piece of jewelry, running his thumb along the glass face. Lifting the watch from Negan’s hand, I take his arm and push his rolled-up shirt sleeve to his elbow. I wrap the platinum timepiece around his veiny wrist before admiring the way it looks against his tanned skin. 

“Happy belated birthday, babe,” I state as Negan gathers me into his arms and kisses me firmly on the mouth. 

“ _Ewww_ , gross,” Lucy complains in disgust, slapping her tiny hands over her eyes. 

“Alright, you little gremlin…it’s time for you to go to bed,” Negan retorts, trying not to chuckle at Lucy’s reaction to his show of affection. 

Worried that Lucy will protest, I hesitantly hold my arms open, though she quickly jumps into my grasp and allows me to carry her up the stairs. With Negan in tow, we proceed to what is now Lucy’s room and I gently toss her onto the purple comforter covering her bed. She climbs beneath the blankets and I briefly tickle her sensitive sides before tucking her in tight. Negan watches from the doorway with a loving smile painted across his face before he says goodnight and blows Lucy a kiss, then slips from the room. 

“Sweet dreams, Lu,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead before I turn out the lights and walk down the hallway to where I spot a light leaking from beneath my own bedroom door. 

I find Negan sprawled across the bed, his gigantic limbs spanning the entire surface of the bed. Laughing at his relaxed and obnoxious pose, I cross the room before leaping onto the bed and landing on top of Negan’s outstretched body. A surprised grunt bursts from his lips and he sits up, adjusting my weight in his lap so he can dangle his long legs over the edge of the mattress. 

“You’re great with her, you know,” he praises, head nodding in the direction of the little girl just down the hall. “I told you there were other ways for us to have a family.” 

I grin at Negan’s words, settling atop his legs as I wrap my arms behind his neck. “She’s perfect, Negan. I love her. And I love you,” I vow. “This is all I’ve ever wanted.” 

Negan slides his hands from my waist to my backside, squeezing gently as he rests his forehead against my chest. “I know and I’m glad. Let’s get some sleep,” he demands, rolling over to toss me beside him on the bed with a chuckle. “If you’re good, maybe I’ll even feel you up.” 

“Is that a promise?” I giggle, pulling Negan over top of me as my hands bracket his face and I raise my head to land a smacking kiss on his lips. 

“Certainly, my dear,” he growls roughly, reaching up to pin my hands above my head. “I owe you a thank you for your gift. Plus, you reminded me about our little outing and I’m hard as a goddamn rock thinking about what a naughty brat you were that day. Remember how I dragged you home and wrecked that pretty pussy?” 

My heart skips a beat at Negan’s words and heat fills my cheeks as he hovers over me, holding me down. I squirm beneath him, desperately trying to create some friction between my thighs. Negan smiles wickedly at me, releasing my trapped wrists as he begins to kiss his way down my neck and towards my chest. 

“Just relax, Izzie,” Negan whispers hotly. “Let me take care of you.” 

I nod frantically, trying to calm my accelerated breathing and pounding pulse. Taking his time, Negan eases his shirt off before removing mine along with my bra. With my torso bare, he trails soft, wet kisses all over my exposed skin, earning a litany of soft mewls from me. His tongue slips from between his lips to circle each of my nipples repeatedly, switching back and forth until I’m burning with lust. 

“Negan,” I gasp, writhing fluidly to tell him silently how much I need him. 

Ignoring my pleas, Negan continues his exploration of my body. His gentle kisses venture down to the waistband of my pants, which he gradually slips inch by inch down my legs until he’s removed them completely. Parting my legs, his warm hands coast down my thighs until he leans forward, pressing his plush lips to my center. The heat of his mouth seeps through the material of my underwear and the humidity of his exhalations increase the moisture already dripping from my body. 

“God, I’ll never get over how sweet you smell,” Negan proclaims, his voice tight and rough. 

He drags the tip of his nose against the crotch of my panties, the pressure against my swollen folds causing me to lift my hips. With a gentle palm against my mound, Negan eases my body back to the mattress, cooing softly to relax me as he continues. I slap a hand over my mouth to silence my throaty moan when Negan nips sharply at my clit through the cotton stretched over my body. 

My legs move restlessly at the desperation I feel from Negan’s teasing. His touch is enough to set my body alight, but I need _more_ to douse the flames blazing through me. Finally taking mercy on me, Negan guides my damp underwear down my thighs and tosses them carelessly over his shoulder. Our eyes meet, the electricity snapping between us as I watch Negan return to his position above my lower half. 

With careful precision, he licks a slow path from my entrance to my pulsing bundle of nerves, sweeping through the gathering moisture. He groans in satisfaction and the sound spilling from his throat mixes with my own heady moan. My free hand curls fervently into the sheets, holding on for dear life as Negan’s skillful tongue circles my clit and laves my folds in saliva. Shivers wrack my body when Negan pulls away, exhaling heavily against my core and sending a wave of cool air over my sodden center. 

“Please, Negan. Please, _please_ ,” I beg, wiggling in his grasp and needing him to give me what I crave. 

Wordlessly, Negan lifts his hand, pressing the tips of his two middle fingers to my dripping hole. I squeal in ecstasy as he steadfastly increases the pressure and eases his thick digits into my body. My walls ripple around him, already prepared for my looming climax even before Negan has done more than penetrate me. Separating his fingers, he spears them slowly in and out of my body, stretching me with each passing second. Distracted by the delicious motion of his hand, it catches me entirely off guard when Negan wraps his lips around my clit and sucks gently, prompting a raucous screech from my throat. 

“Shh, baby,” he reprimands, making no effort to cease his efforts to hurdle me towards an orgasm. “Can you be a good girl and stay quiet for me?” 

I agree straightaway, still crying out softly when Negan returns his mouth to my throbbing pussy. My head begins to swim as Negan slurps more intently against my bud, my thighs quivering and muscles contracting with the onslaught of stimulation assaulting my body. Negan carries on relentlessly, pounding his fingers into my pliable body with a symphony of slick, wet noises. His lips caress my flesh with enthusiasm and fervor, coaxing a pleasured scream that desperately wants to claw it’s way up from my chest. 

Utilizing the dredges of sense left in my lust-addled brain, I snatch a pillow from above my head and crush it over my face. The restrained sounds building within me finally escape, just barely muffled by the plush object shielding my mouth. My back bows with painful tension as my arousal floods from my body, my squirting orgasm coating Negan’s inexorable hand and persistent tongue. The vibrations of his raspy moan course through my lower half, only serving to prolong my powerful orgasm. 

“Just like that, babygirl,” he praises. “Cum for me again.” 

Helpless to protect myself from Negan’s incessant ministrations, my body shakes more forcefully as a second orgasm creeps up on me. Tears spring to my eyes as the over-stimulation borders on painful, though Negan refuses to halt the hurried fluctuations of his tongue. My mouth opens, though no sound manages to escape as I’m floored by the climax building in my core. 

Before long, my muscles lock and my whole body quakes as my pussy ripples around Negan’s dexterous fingers. With the stroking digits still stuffed inside my slippery channel, my walls clench vigorously, refusing to release Negan’s hand as my orgasm explodes through me. 

When my strained muscles finally relax, Negan slips his dripping fingers from within me, dragging my arousal along my quivering thigh. Using his tongue, he cleanses every drop of my release from my sticky skin. 

I whip the suffocating pillow from my flushed, sweaty face and suck some much needed air into my lungs. Negan taps a hand against my thigh in a show of approval before he drags his body over top of me and captures my lips in a vehement kiss. I can taste myself on his mouth and his tongue as he swirls it between my lips, then pulls away with a wet smack. 

“Well…that was nice,” he chuckles, a smug grin dimpling his stubbled cheeks. 

Negan drops beside me, pulling the blankets over our bodies as he yanks me close to his chest and snuggles me into his warmth. I’m surprised when our hips press together and I find that Negan isn’t even remotely hard, especially given the circumstances. _Who even has that much self-control?_ I wonder to myself. When I press my ass to Negan’s crotch, he seems to catch on to what I’m thinking. 

“Don’t worry, you can pay me back in the morning,” he promises darkly. “Go to sleep.” 

Initially disobeying his order, I continue swiveling and grinding subtly against Negan. It doesn’t take long before he’s holding my hips still against his own once I finally manage to stir the beginnings of hardness in his cock. I give in eventually, ceasing my movements as exhaustion weight my eyelids down. _There’ll be plenty of time to play tomorrow_ , I convince myself, letting my eyes fall shut as I slip into a calm and peaceful sleep.


	75. Living Well Is The Best Revenge

An odd pressure against my back and insistent warmth along my neck drag me involuntarily from my sleep. With a hazy mind, I make a half-assed effort to pull away from the annoying contact. My movements are fruitless as my chest is crushed under a tight weight constricting my body and holding me captive.

“Rise and shine, sweetness,” Negan murmurs against my flesh, his molten voice surrounding my already fuzzy head. 

I whine in protest, snuggling deeper into Negan’s embrace as I bury my head in my pillow. Paying no mind to my desire to slip back into slumber, Negan continues pressing soft kisses to the back of my neck. I hum in pleasure and the sound prompts Negan to grind his hips against my backside with slow, firm motions. His movements stop for a moment as he eases his boxers off his body and presses our bare bodies back together. 

“Looks like I’m not the only one who’s up,” I slur when I feel the warmth and firmness of his solid length pressing against me. 

Negan chuckles in response, lightly dragging his fingertips from my sternum to my pelvis. I shiver at the contact and Negan’s touch leaves a trail of goosebumps in it’s wake. Still nude from last night, Negan takes advantage of how easily accessible my body is and slips a hand between my thighs. A finger swirls languidly over my already throbbing bud and I revel in the delightful sensation. 

“I don’t wanna move,” I complain, my muscles too lax to bother participating in Negan’s advances. 

“Me neither,” he chuckles, breathing against my neck as his fingers continue moving at a leisurely pace. 

Scooting closer to Negan to relish in the heat seeping from his flesh, I part my legs just a bit wider to encourage his busy fingers. “Let’s just stay here all day,” I offer, my voice still heavy with sleep. 

“Mm, I’d love nothing more than to spend every second of today _right_ here,” Negan rasps into my ear before punctuating each of his next words with a thrust of his fingers into my receptive body. “With my beautiful…amazing…delicious… _needy_ wife.” 

I whimper as Negan’s thick fingers plunder the depths of my body and his thumb flicks intermittently against my clit. He continues his sweet torture for several minutes until I can no longer stand the inadequate penetration. 

“Negan, please. I need you inside me,” I call, reaching an arm back to bury my fingers in his dark hair. 

His fingers continue moving, slick with my juices as he picks up the pace to urge me towards my climax. Ignoring my pleas to have him buried between my quivering thighs, Negan proceeds to tease me, wrapping an arm under my head so as to hold his palm over my mouth and quiet my cries. 

“If you wake Lucy up, we’re gonna have to stop before I get a chance to stuff you full of cock,” Negan growls in warning. 

Knowing just how much his dirty talk affects me, Negan holds my body in place for the orgasm he’d expected to result from his filthy words. With my eyes squeezed shut and my nails digging into Negan’s forearm, I’m motionless as my orgasm zips through my veins. He murmurs softly in my ear, easing me through my climax before he unlocks his tightened arms from around my listless form. Catching my breath, I push my hips against Negan’s groin, trying once more to beg him to take me. 

“What do you want?” he demands gently, turning me onto my back and shifting to his knees to linger above me as his hands sweep over every inch of my flesh. 

“I want you to fuck me,” I assert, lust burning in my eyes as I stare into Negan’s golden orbs. 

Tapping a single finger against my pursed lips, Negan silences my attempts to further goad him. “Shh, no,” he placates, hissing more loudly when I try to protest his ongoing interruptions. “I’m gonna make love to you, Izzie.” 

Somehow, his simple declaration turns me on more than any vulgar phrase that has every dripped from his lips and I react immediately. Leaning forward, I thread my arms around Negan’s neck as he sits back, crossing his legs beneath my weight as he hauls me into his lap. Burying my face against his neck, I inhale Negan’s spicy scent and kiss his flesh, tasting the saltiness of sweat there. 

I squirm against him, trying to force my body closer to his as I moan in desperation for him to fill me. Negan’s hands vibrate vaguely as he lifts my hips, angling my hips and directing my core to hover just above his pulsing cock. Looking me in the eyes, he hesitates for a moment, savoring the heat and suspense amalgamating between us. 

“You have _no_ idea how much it turns me on to see you like this, babygirl,” Negan grunts in a strained voice as he allows my body to slip over the first few inches of his manhood. “Knowing how much you want me. Seeing how desperate you get, just to have me buried inside you. I love the way you’re always _dripping_ for me.” 

Giving me very little space to move, I gradually slip my way down Negan’s length; my soaked pussy engulfing him inch by inch until I’m nestled in his lap and he’s fully sheathed within me. I sigh loudly, gripping tightly to Negan’s shoulders as we remain motionless, just enjoying the sensation of him filling me to the brim. Though I clench my muscles around Negan and earn a deep groan in return, he refuses to give in and let me move. 

Negan grips my thighs, working my legs around him until all of my limbs are wrapped about his frame. This position gives me no leverage to move my body and I realize I’m entirely at Negan’s mercy. For several long minutes, he lets me suffer, making no motion other than to thread an arm around my lower back and pull me harder over his thick member. 

Before long, I grow restless with lust and wild with my need for Negan to give me any form of stimulation. He allows me what little movement I can manage from my ineffective position, though it isn’t much. When I let out a displeased and pitiful wail, Negan is sure to stop my sounds of complaint. 

“Easy, sweetheart,” he coos, silencing my vocalizations with a smacking kiss. 

I return his kiss with fervor, crazed for any kind of contact or affection as my arousal seeps from my body and down the ridges of Negan’s throbbing cock. He finally takes pity on me then, taking a hold of my hips and lifting me a few inches before letting my body drop, sliding his dick in and out of my body in several shallow thrusts. Stretching me to my limits, the limited amount of movement is enough to send a fresh wave of arousal blazing through me. My pussy leaks onto Negan, coating him in my juices as I make no attempt to control my carnal hunger. 

“You feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” Negan praises quietly. “So tight and wet…just for me.” 

“ _God_ , Negan,” I mewl, uselessly trying to swivel along his length with each slow, deep thrust of his hips below me. “I’m so close already.” 

Taking note of my shaky words, Negan deepens his strokes, lifting me higher and slamming me more firmly into his lap. Though forceful, his movements are smooth and sure as he takes his time pleasuring us both. All the while, his lips are coursing over my neck and chest, leaving a wet trail and several red marks along the way. 

In no time at all, my body is riddled with quaking muscles and twitches from my impending climax. Negan crushes my body to his own, leaving absolutely no space between our figures as he continues plunging his swollen cock up into my core. My breath hitches each time my sensitive clit grinds against Negan’s pelvis and he whispers sweet nothing’s in my ear as he feels me reaching my end. 

Between the profoundly intimate position and the heady, desperate need wracking my body, I’m soon hit with easily the most mind-blowing orgasm I’ve ever been on the receiving end of. Negan swallows my keening cries, supporting my body with his wide palms as his hips still lift below me, impaling my drenched pussy with steady force. 

“Ugh, shit,” Negan gasps, something noticeably helpless and vulnerable in his voice. “So good. _Izzie_ ,” he breathes against my heated flesh. 

Just as the final waves of my orgasm ripple through my core, Negan grunts against my mouth as his own climax washes over him. Hot, thick ropes of cum rush deep inside me and Negan shakes beneath me as we reach our release together. I cry out softly, holding him close as our entwined bodies rock and quake with the aftermath of our coupling. 

Reaching up, he takes a fistful of my hair and tilts my head at a sharp angle to nip at my throat. I lay my palms on each of his stubbled cheeks, holding his face close to my flesh as he leaves bites and bruises along the length of my neck. Eventually, his kisses work their way across my jaw and up to my lips. Our tongues tangle as we attack each other’s mouths passionately until we’re both short of breath. 

“That’s one hell of a way to wake up, huh?” Negan states proudly, his customary smug grin showing off his perfect teeth. 

Before I have a chance to respond to Negan’s cocky assertion, I hear the patter of tiny feet just outside our door. “Shit!” I hiss, knowing it’s too late to disguise what we were just doing without being obvious. 

Tossing myself off of Negan’s lap, I gasp at the feeling of his softening length slipping from inside me along with the remnants of his seed. Just as the bedroom door swings open, I rip the sheets up and over my bare breasts, barely managing to cover Negan’s crotch too as Lucy storms into the room. 

“Mommy, Daddy! Time to get up!” she howls, wasting no time as she leaps into the center of the bed and crawls up between us. 

I try to hide my embarrassment and horror, assuming Negan is doing the same as he presses his lips into a firm line, trying to fight back a smirk. I take Lucy into my arms, making sure to keep my body covered and her attention diverted as Negan grabs his discarded underwear and slips them back over his legs. Now partially dressed, Negan glides across the room and pulls a t-shirt from his dresser before tossing it to me. 

“C'mere, sweet pea,” Negan invites, holding his arms open and grunting when Lucy hops from my grasp to his. 

Taking advantage of my free arms, I slip Negan’s shirt over my nude form before sliding out of bed. I peer over my shoulder, letting Negan know I’m taking a quick shower as I hastily shuffle to the bathroom before his cum leaks down my damp thighs. 

I step under the steamy flow of the running shower, enjoying the force of the water pounding my worn muscles. Rinsing the scent of sex and Negan’s musk from my flesh, I scrub the foamy bubbles of my sweet-smelling body wash over my skin. As the blazing water cascades over my body, I tip my head back and sigh in satisfaction as I bask in my euphoria and gleeful mood. Much as I’m appreciating my luxurious shower, I’m eager to return to the two people waiting for me in the next room. 

I dry my body and replace Negan’s t-shirt over my damp body. What I find when I return to the bedroom causes happy tears to spring to my eyes instantaneously. Negan remains exactly where I left him – propped against the pillows of our bed with one leg dangling off the side. In his lap sits Lucy, curled up with Negan’s arms tangled tightly around her tiny body and her cheek leaning on his bare chest. Observing the adorable pair, I realize they’re both asleep. 

Tiptoeing across the room, I locate my phone on the bedside table. I make as little noise as possible as I snap a picture of the dozing twosome. I watch them for a moment longer until Negan’s eyes slip open slowly. His gaze is foggy as he shifts his eyes around the room, then lands his gaze on me. He smiles crookedly and breathes deeply as his body rouses from his nap. 

“Lucy tells me you promised her a picnic on the beach today,” Negan whispers across the room, smiling widely when I nod in assent. “She got so excited, I think she wore herself out already.” 

Negan lifts his head and cranes his neck to look down at the sleeping beauty cradled in his sinewy arms. She stirs a bit, loose strands of her blonde hair catching in Negan’s short beard as she hunkers down and cuddles closer to his warmth. He lifts his gaze once more, fixing it on me as his eyes fill with love and adoration. I smile giddily at him when he presses a soft kiss to Lucy’s head and I take several more pictures of him. 

“Let her sleep for a while longer,” I murmur lowly, catching Negan’s attention. “I’ll get dressed and then we’ll get going.” 

• • • • • • • • • • 

Negan and I walk hand in hand through the thick, shifting sand as Lucy and Ziggy race in front of us. My long, red hair whips around my face as we traverse the beach and head near the shoreline, both of us toting canvas bags full of supplies and necessities. I laugh to myself when I remember what a fuss Negan had made, insisting that _he_ carry the bag containing all the food. _Who am I to deprive a man of his snacks?_

Picking a spot along the soft sand, I unroll two large towels, spreading them over the ground before dropping my bag. Negan does the same, standing next to me as we watch Lucy sprint straight for the water. Her little legs carry her at high speed as her feet splash loudly in the foamy waves lapping at the shore. Her cheerful giggles carry on the breeze, reaching my ears from a distance and I feel Negan reach out to squeeze my hand in his own. 

I turn to Negan then, smiling contentedly up at him and accepting his swift, forceful kiss before he whips his shirt over his head and jogs down the beach to join Lucy. I drop onto my towel, lounging on the soft ground as I spread a layer of sun lotion over my whole body. Bracing my palms behind me, I lean back and observe the trio running up and down the beach; laughing, playing, and causing quite a racket as they frolic with each other. 

Negan scoops Lucy into his arms, sprinting straight into the ocean as she screams and laughs and tries to escape his clutches. Ziggy yips in excitement, hopping in circles at Negan’s feet and trying to keep his head above the water. Negan lifts Lucy under her arms, holding her over his head before pretending to drop her straight into the water. Lucy’s amused squeals grow louder and louder until Negan eventually does drop her into the water with a huge splash. 

Much to my surprise, she disappears for a moment and Negan seems to panic before she pops up directly behind him and sends a wave of salty water across the wide expanse of his back. Negan yells in surprise, whirling around and snatching Lucy up to attack her with relentless tickles until she manages to escape and run back to the compacted sand at the shore. 

Eventually, Lucy’s stamina proves too much for Negan and he leaves her to play with Ziggy near the water’s edge. He trudges across the sand towards me, immediately dropping to the towel beside me and flopping onto his back. Now laying on my stomach with my elbows buried in the sand and a book in my hands, I merely peer at Negan over my shoulder. Tipping my sunglasses down, I stare at him over the dark lenses until he turns his head towards me. 

“Can’t keep up with her, old man?” I tease, smirking at my panting husband. 

Negan raises a hand, weakly shaking an admonishing finger in my direction until he can form words. “If I had the energy to roll over there…” he wheezes, leaving his threat open-ended as his hand drops limply back to his side. 

Finishing up the current chapter of my book, I shut it and drop it before crawling my way over to Negan. He sits up when the shadow of my form blocks out the sun and he realizes how close I am. Situating myself alongside him, Negan wraps an arm around my waist and leans his head against my own. His fingers fiddle with the ties of my bikini bottoms, though he makes no effort to take things further, surprisingly enough. 

Together, we watch Lucy and Ziggy continuing to play; her skipping along the wet sand and Ziggy trotting along in pursuit. My heart feels ready to explode with the love and blissful joy burgeoning in my chest. Negan tightens his arms around me and I settle my hands atop his clenching forearms, holding him just as close. With my thumb rubbing slow circles into his soft skin, I find myself lost in my thoughts until Negan sighs heavily and the burst of air sweeps through my wavy locks. 

“What?” I wonder, questioning the breathy sound. 

“Nothing…just taking it all in,” he responds dreamily. “I’m one lucky motherfucker. I have everything. Right here. Everything I need and more than I could ever want.” 

I turn my head, pulling away from Negan and forcing him to meet my eyes. “I love you so much,” I promise in a low tone. 

“I love you more,” he responds adamantly. 

Placing a sweet kiss against Negan’s temple, I relax comfortably against him once more to watch _our_ daughter play. I reach backwards over my shoulder and wrap my arm around the back of Negan’s neck as I massage my fingers through his damp hair. 

I can hardly believe that I’ve come this far and this is what my life has become. After all I’d gone through in the last year or so, I’ve finally reached the nirvana I always deserved. I found myself. I found fulfillment, gratification and love. I found my _family_. 

With my husband in my arms, the people I love all together, happiness in my heart, and the world at my fingertips, I surmise I am the most fortunate woman on the whole damn planet. I swore up and down that I would never go back home, and yet…I’ve just discovered what a blessing the decision to do so had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay well…I guess this is it, huh guys? I am way more emotional than I thought I would be. This is the second full-length fic I’ve finished and that in itself is an accomplishment for me…but man, this one is special because it was the very first story I ever wrote. As someone who has genuinely never written anything longer than an 8-page essay in high school, venturing into the world of fanfiction was one that terrified me for YEARS. I eventually had a very supportive friend convince me and though it’s been a stressful and scary venture, it’s been fun. And I managed to create THIS. As much as I doubt my own abilities constantly, I am immensely proud of myself for writing this story. It’s my fuckin’ baby.  
> Anyway, enough sappy shit. I want to shoot a MASSIVE thank you to every last person who read these chapters and left feedback and took this journey with me. This story started as something I thought would just be for fun and turned into something much bigger. My initial plan was to write a quick story with some self-gratuitous Mobster Negan and good ol’ smut…it was only supposed to be MAYBE 25 chapters, and here we are…chapter 75. I never would’ve gotten this far without the people who took the time to read my work, so THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU.  
> As sad as I am to see Izzie and Negan’s story come to an end, this just means I have plenty of time to create more content and move on to new things. This story and these characters will always be near and dear to me, but I’m ready for new things!


End file.
